


Draco Malfoy and the Dark Lord's Diary

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: Do It All Over Again [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco & Harry Friendship, Draco has issues with his family background, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Series Retold, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 04:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13450605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: Draco enters his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not knowing he would be confronted with exactly the identity he was trying to leave behind.





	1. Horrible Summer Holidays and Illegally Flying Cars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the 2nd instalment of this series. Thanks again to all of you for your amazing comments and support on the 1st part of this story, and for following Draco into his 2nd year. I really hope this sequel will live up to your expectations. I, for my part, am very excited about sharing this with you, since from the very start the second year was one of the books I was looking forward to re-write the most.

Draco had been home for six weeks, and it was more than enough time to decide that he _hated_ the summer holidays. No, maybe ‘hate’ was too weak a word. He _hated_ Theodore Nott. He _hated_ black pudding.

He _detested_ summer holidays.

It had started with coming home and getting yelled at by his father for every offense imaginable: His still-not-rectified choice of friends (which never was going to be rectified, thank you very much), him breaking about a hundred school rules by entering a forbidden corridor with said friends to rescue an invaluable alchemic product from the hands of the deranged maniac his father had used to follow (which, fair enough, maybe he deserved yelling for, though not for the same reasons his father had done it), his marks being not as perfect as those of a ‘Mudblood’ (nevermind that his marks were the second best in his whole bloody year and that Hermione Granger was a freaking genius), and in general, for being a terrible disappointment of a son. As a consequence, his father had decided to confine his life to the Manor until he had to go back to school: No meeting people, no going to watch Quidditch matches or even going shopping at Diagon Alley with his mother. Draco was not sure what his father’s aim was with this punishment - did he think that two months on the Manor grounds with only his parents and the house elves for company would reform him back to the proper pureblood heir he’d believed him to be? If so, he was terribly mistaken.

His mother, needless to say, was very much not impressed with his father’s attitude. It had taken two days after Draco’s return from school for them to break into a huge fight. Family heirlooms had been smashed against walls (most of them from his father’s side of the family) and their voices had carried over all the way to Draco’s bedroom, despite a whole stairway and about ten rooms separating him from the danger zone. Ever since, his parents had been terribly cold with each other. Oh, they were not fighting anymore, alright; instead, they were treating each other with such frozen politeness that Draco felt like shuddering every time he witnessed it. Draco was thankful that his mother sided with him rather than her husband, of course, but it wasn’t very pleasant living in a house that resembled a social icebox. Then again, being the least popular student down in the Slytherin quarters, he was pretty used to it.

The worst, though, far worse than anything his parents were staging at home, was that he hadn’t heard from Harry all summer. Draco didn’t understand. Hermione was writing to him weekly and even _Weasley_ had corresponded with him, but there was not so much as a note from Harry. He wasn’t the only one who had not heard from him, either. He treated both Hermione and Weasley with equal silence, which left Draco more than a little suspicious.

No, not suspicious. He was bloody worried, that’s what he was.

Draco knew, of course, of the fact that Harry was not a very welcome guest at his aunt and uncle’s house. It didn’t take much fantasy to imagine the way he was treated from all the thoughtless comments he had made over the last year, but the longer he went without news from Harry, the more scared he was about his friend’s well-being. It had gotten to the point where he was discussing an intervention with Weasley, who, for all his faults, was equally as worried as Draco.

His fears culminated when, on the day of Harry’s birthday, his father returned with the news that Harry had received an official warning from the Ministry of Magic for performing a hovering charm at his Muggle relatives’ house. Draco tuned out the lecture about his choice of friends that followed the news, instead taking his time to freak out inwardly. Harry might not set much store by the rules, but he would not be as careless to risk expulsion from school unless it was a matter of life or death.

And with those, Draco thought uncomfortably, they’d had plenty of experience by now.

He wrote to Weasley that night, insisting that they needed to set something in motion, to find out whether Harry was okay or not. Weasley agreed, ensuring him that he was trying to talk his parents into checking on Harry, and that, in case they wouldn’t budge, he was working on a backup plan with the twins. Draco was not sure if he felt reassured by that or not. Fred and George Weasley were infamous for wreaking havoc all over Hogwarts, and the last thing Harry would need was more trouble associated with him.

Draco also tried to talk to his mother about his worries, but while she listened, she refused to get involved.

“What do you imagine I do, darling?” she sighed. “Turn up at his Muggle relatives’ house and demand to see the boy? They’ll call the Muggle Aurors on me, and your father would have my head! No, dear, you will have to wait until term starts. You will see him then, I’m sure.”

Thankfully, Draco did not have to wait that long, after all. Four days after Harry’s birthday, he finally received a letter carried by Hedwig. The snowy owl seemed overjoyed to see him, and Draco could have kissed the bird as she dropped a letter into his hands, hooting in accomplishment before joining Aquila on his perch.

Draco had never been that eager to open a letter, and he practically tore into the envelope to get to it.

‘ _Dear Draco,’_ it read. ‘ _Sorry for making you worry. My uncle put a lock on Hedwig’s cage, so I couldn’t contact you. I never received any of your letters, either - believe it or not, a house elf turned up at the Dursley’s house on my birthday, asking me to stay away from Hogwarts. He said that there was a plot to make ‘most terrible things’ happen, and that I would be in mortal danger if I returned.’_

Draco held in there, reading the sentence over twice more before he closed his eyes and let out an agonized groan.

“Why does the freaky stuff always happen to you?” he moaned into the room at large.

‘ _That elf also intercepted all the letters from you guys. Apparently he thought that, if I felt that no one was missing me, I wouldn’t want to go back. He also performed the hovering charm down in the living room, dropping pudding all over the wife of an important business partner of my uncle in an attempt to get me locked away. He succeeded. Ron, Fred and George broke me out of there, and I am now with the Weasley’s.’_

“‘ _Broke me out_ ’?” Draco repeated out loud, making a face and looking over at Hedwig. “Do I want to know?” he asked her.

She let out a high screech, which Draco interpret as a ‘No’.

‘ _Anyways, I’m sorry if I scared you. I am fine now. How about you? Has your father ben giving you a rough time? Hope to hear from you soon, Harry. PS: We’re meeting Hermione at Diagon Alley on the 19th. Maybe you could come, too?’_

Draco let himself drop onto his bed, smiling as he reread the letter, relief settling in his stomach. The whole house elf story sounded very ominous, alright - he would have to get the details of that when he saw Harry face to face - but for now, the other boy seemed safe and sound, and that was enough for Draco.

Now he just needed to talk his mother into sneaking him out to Diagon Alley on the 19th, but he was sure they would find a way.

  


“Remember,” his mother said tersely as they walked out onto the shopping street and Draco craned his neck for any sign of his friends. “We need to be home before your father returns from wherever he is today. If he finds out I let you go to meet Potter, Weasley and Granger-”

“I know, Mother,” Draco waved her off. “It will be fine. We’ll just stay for a couple of hours. He’ll never know I was gone.”

“He’d better not,” she muttered. She let the subject drop, though, instead saying: “I’ll work my way down your list of school supplies. We’ll meet back at the Leaky Cauldron at four o’clock the latest, understood?”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco nodded absentmindedly, still looking out for a messy bob of black hair, or alternatively, lots of ginger.

He ended up finding them about five minutes later as they all came strolling out of Gringotts. He was so happy to see them that he pulled both Harry and Hermione into a very unmanly (and un-Malfoy-ish) hug, but he was grinning too widely to feel embarrassed about the display of affection.

They separated from the others then, Mr Weasley taking Hermione’s parents out for a drink, Mrs Weasley going to buy robes with her daughter and the brothers scattering somewhere (Draco could not care less) as they made their way over to Florian Fortescue’s to buy some ice cream. They were chattering excitedly about this and that when Harry suddenly turned to Draco, announcing: “By the way, Draco, I saw your father earlier at Borgin and Burkes!”

Draco froze mid-step, staring at Harry incredulously, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“You mean he’s here?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “At Diagon Alley?”

“Well, I’m not sure he still is,” Harry shrugged, frowning at Draco’s reaction. “And it was Knockturn Alley in the first place, so…” Draco could have asked what the heck Harry had been doing in Knockturn Alley, but he was too shaken by the news that his father had been nearby to question his friend. “Why?” asked Harry. “What’s wrong?”

“He doesn’t exactly know I’m here,” Draco confessed with a sigh. “Mother snuck me out behind his back. He would never have allowed me to meet up with you. So if he happens to see me here…”

“He’s probably gone,” Harry said, in an attempt to calm him. “He was trying to sell dark artefacts that could incriminate him. He probably didn’t linger.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Draco muttered. _And let’s hope he did not go home to find Mother and me gone, either_ , he thought to himself.

“Cheer up,” Harry smiled, elbowing him. “Let’s buy some ice cream and then you can tell me about your summer.”

“Not much to tell,” Draco snorted. “I’d much rather hear about yours. What was that about the elf?”

Harry then launched into the story of how the elf had appeared in his room, and what exactly he had said. By the time he wrapped up, they had finished their ice cream and reached Gambol and Japes' joke shop.

“What was he talking about, though?” Draco frowned. “What kind of danger is there supposed to be waiting at Hogwarts? Dumbledore is not hiding anything _new_ at the school, is he?!”

“He’d better not!” Hermione injected, her eyes wide.

“I’m telling you, Nott was just playing a joke on him!” Weasley shrugged.

“Nott?” Draco repeated, frowning.

“Ron thinks he sent the elf to keep me from going back to school,” Harry elaborated.

“It might be his idea of a joke,” Draco conceded, frown deepening. “But you said the elf acted like he was there _against_ instructions, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Harry nodded. “But it seems like they can’t act against instructions, so...”

“Oh, they can, if they feel strongly about something,” Draco corrected him. “Our elves are much more loyal to my mother than my father, for example, and they will go against his direct orders if it’s about her, or sometimes me.”

Their conversation was interrupted, though, when they ran into the twins and their Gryffindor friend at the fireworks section of the shop, and Draco was distracted from picking it up again after.

As they made their way over to Flourish and Blotts later, the place was bursting with people. Gilderoy Lockhart was there to sign his new book, and Draco groaned out loud at the same moment Hermione squealed: “We can actually meet him! I mean, he’s written almost the whole booklist!”

“Oh, come off it, Hermione,” Draco rolled his eyes. “He’s a phoney wanna-be-celebrity.”

“What do you mean, ‘Wanna-Be’?” Hermione returned, very frosty. “He’s very famous, isn’t he? His books are bestsellers!”

“Just because all the witches think he’s pretty,” Draco scoffed, and he received a snort of amusement from Weasley for that. “He’s an airhead, Hermione, I’m telling you!”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Weasley warned as they entered the shop. “Mum fancies him.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at him, and it seemed to be one of those rare moments where they were of one mind because Weasley rolled his eyes at him in agreement.

They joined the Weasleys and the Grangers where they were standing in the crowd, both Hermione and Mrs Weasley eagerly stretching to get a glimpse of Lockhart.

Draco’s image of the best-selling author was, if anything, cemented in stone by the events of the next half hour. Not only was he as embarrassingly self-absorbed and attention-seeking as Draco had always assumed, but he also managed to spot Harry in the crowd and abuse his friend’s fame for the sake of publicity. Draco knew he’d been sneering so hard all through the impromptu photo session Harry had been roped into that his mother would have snapped at him to assume some kind of composure, but he could not help himself. The guy was unbearable, and much worse, as he had announced so pompously before he had let Harry out of his grasp, he was going to be their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Bloody brilliant.

It was what happened after, though, that actually took the cake. Harry had just been shoving the books Lockhart had gifted him into the cauldron Weasley’s little sister was holding when a steely voice made them turn around in surprise - and dread, from Draco’s side.

“Harry Potter. What a pleasure to finally meet you, after I’ve heard so much about you.”

There, towering over them in a polite elegance that only he could manage, was Draco’s father. Draco had to fight the urge to run and hide among the crowd of Weasleys, but he knew it was far too late for that. He had been busted. Instead, he stood a little taller, trying for stubborn defiance instead. He could feel the others’ eyes on his face as they looked back and forth between his father and him, but he did not meet their eyes, keeping them locked to his father’s instead.

“And look who we have here,” his father added, his voice low and dangerous. “Fancy meeting you like this, Draco.”

Draco did not answer, his lips tightening. There was a moment of tense silence before Mr Weasley appeared behind them, having struggled over towards them with the twins in tow.

“What are you doing here?” he asked them mildly, apparently not having taken note of Draco’s father. “It’s mad in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley,” his father sneered, a slow smile spreading across his face - the kind that had no warmth in it, but was poised with pure malice.

It was then that Mr Weasley looked up at him, and his whole posture changed - there was a sudden tension to the way he held himself, and his expression turned almost equally as cold as that of Draco’s father.

“Lucius,” he said, nodding once in greeting.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” his father drawled, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in a way that Draco knew meant an insult was on its way. “All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?” He reached out to pick up one of the books from the Weasley girl’s cauldron - not one of the new ones Harry had dropped there, but an old, battered one that was clearly second-hand - his eyebrows rising as he looked at it in distaste. “Obviously not,” he answered his own question. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

“Father,” Draco hissed, anger and humiliation running through him at those words. “Stop!”

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Draco,” his father snapped, flashing him a sideways look of fury. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make your situation worse by talking back to me.”

“What are you going to do? Ground me even more?” Draco rolled his eyes, his anger making him braver than he’d usually be. “Throw me in the dungeons?”

“I would watch my words if I were you, son,” his father ground out. “I have close ties to the Headmaster of Durmstrang, you know. It’s not too late to take you out of Hogwarts.”

Draco blanched at that, and his fingers tightened into a fist. “Mother wouldn’t let you,” he said simply.

“Your mother is much too soft with you,” he returned coldly, his eyes travelling from Draco to Weasley and finally resting on Hermione, his nose wrinkling in obvious distaste. “Clearly,” he stressed.

With a dramatic gesture, he dropped the book he was still holding back into the cauldron, and turned back to his son.

“We’re going home,” he ordered.

“I’m here with Mother,” Draco protested. “I can’t just disappear. She’ll-”

“We’ll find her and go home together,” he was interrupted with a finality that Draco knew he had no chance of winning against. “And then we’ll have a good, long talk about the company you keep.”

Draco took a deep breath, glaring back with all the loathing he felt at that moment, before turning back to his friends. Hermione looked slightly shaky, but she was trying to smile at Draco when their eyes met. Weasley looked furious, his face as red as his father’s as they both stared up at Lucius Malfoy in barely suppressed rage. Harry looked like he was going to grab Draco’s arm and refuse to let him leave.

“I’ll see you on the train,” Draco muttered, and unwillingly followed his father out of the shop.

  


Draco did not think he had ever seen his father this furious. Their shouting match lasted for almost an hour, only interrupted occasionally by his mother’s scorching comments directed at her husband. Draco had been right when saying his mother wasn’t going to allow for him to be sent to school halfway across Europe, though it was a close call. Only the threat of her taking Draco, packing up and leaving the Manor closed that path of his father’s argumentation down completely.

To say, though, that the rest of Draco’s summer holidays was even more hellish than they already had been, was putting it quite mildly. While his father had mainly ignored him for the most part before his trip to Diagon Alley, he now actively searched him out. He punished Draco by giving him work. He was made to read books and essays on blood purity, and summarize them to his father after. It was needless to say that these conversation ensured new fights every time - his father might hold the authority to punish him, but Draco was done with letting himself be told what to believe, or keeping from voicing his displeasure with his father’s bigoted ideas. Every time his father had had enough of what he called Draco’s “cheek”, he’d send him to do physical labor, supervised by Dobby, the house-elf he used as his personal servant. Draco had polished more family heirlooms or undusted portraits of their horrific ancestors than he could count. One time, when he had been especially exhausted, he had asked Dobby to finish the job for him and not tell his father about it. Dobby had done it, but he had punished himself so hard that Draco felt too guilty to try again.

His father was also dead-set on improving his standing with his fellow pureblood house mates. One afternoon he was called downstairs to find Marcus Flint, a Slytherin sixth year student and captain of the Quidditch team, sitting in the drawing room with a cup of tea in hand and a very self-satisfied expression on his ugly face.

“I had a little chat with Mr Flint,” his father announced the moment Draco entered the room. “You will be playing Seeker for your house team this year.”

Draco turned to his father, gaping at him, incredulity spreading through him. Of course, he had wanted that spot on the team - his father knew he had - but nothing Lucius Malfoy could have done to make sure he received it was going to be to his liking.

“Without try-out?” Draco asked flatly.

“A try-out would be a mere formality with the son of the team’s sponsor among the candidates,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his own tea, a pleased smirk on his face.

“Sponsor?" Draco repeated, eyes narrowing. “You bought my way into the team?!”

“I merely offered Mr Flint to provide appropriate brooms to ensure that my son’s house had a fair shot at the house cup this year,” he said casually. “You can’t blame a father for caring, can you, Draco?”

Draco was furious. He had wanted to try out for the position, but he had wanted to _earn_ it. He was a good flyer, and he was sure if he had been given the chance, he would have made the team. But now he would never know, and he would always be the Malfoy boy that had been bought into the team by his rich father.

He was counting the days until school started, and his only glimpses of light were the letters he now received regularly from both Harry and Hermione. Draco suspected they were only writing with such frequency to make sure his father had not murdered him yet, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He refrained from telling Harry about his position on the Quidditch team, though, too ashamed of how he had received it to reveal it until he absolutely had to.

When September first finally rolled around, Draco felt like he had reached the end of a sentence to prison, and his father’s mood was even fouler than usual.

“If I receive one more word of any _adventures_ with your pack of Muggle-loving trouble-makers I _am_ going to take you out of school,” he threatened in parting. “I don’t care what your mother says. I’m not going stand for any more of your behaviour!”

“Shame that I don’t care what _you_ say,” Draco shot back flatly and pushed past him before his father could even reply.

His mother took him to King’s Cross, thankfully refusing the company of her husband. She even made an effort to converse with Hermione’s parents when they came across them, despite the enraged looks she received from the Notts, Crabbes and Goyles, and Draco felt fiercely proud of her.

“Where are the Weasleys?” Draco asked Hermione, looking around anxiously as they neared eleven o’clock. “They aren’t here yet, are they?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione muttered, frowning. “They are kind of hard to miss. I hope they’re not running late…”

When it was time to board the train, though, they had spotted neither Harry nor any of the Weasley kids. They decided to search the train, and finally, as they reached the very last wagon, they ran across the twins sitting with their usual friend and their little sister. There was still no trace though of Harry and Weasley himself, though.

“Have you seen Ron and Harry?” Hermione asked as she poked her head into their compartment.

“Not since we arrived at the station, no,” one of the two frowned - Draco could never tell them apart, so he did not even try. “We were running late and lost sight of them.”

“We’ve been searching all over,” Draco noted.

“Maybe you just passed each other,” the other one shrugged.

“Must have,” Hermione nodded, but the look she exchanged with Draco was one of confusion.

They made their way towards the other side of the train once more, and when they had still not found them, they turned around again in continued search. When they passed the compartment in which Longbottom was sitting alone for the third time they finally decided to give up and sit with him.

“Maybe if we stay put, Ron and Harry will find us,” Hermione reasoned, though Draco could tell that she didn’t believe her own words. He saw his own worry reflected in her brown eyes.

“I’m telling you, they aren’t here,” Draco sighed.

“They have to be _somewhere_ ,” she insisted.

“They might have missed the train,” Draco pointed out. “The twins said they were running late, right?”

“They did,” Hermione agreed, biting her lip. “What happens if you miss the train?”

“I don’t know,” Draco shrugged. “I think they’ll have to contact Dumbledore to get permission for arriving by Floo?”

“My Granny said I’ll have to stay home for the year if I miss the train when she wanted me to hurry earlier,” Longbottom injected, his eyes wide. “But maybe she was just saying that to scare me.”

“I’m sure she did,” Draco returned sceptically. “I can’t see Dumbledore refusing anyone attendance just because they missed the train.”

Harry and Ron did not show up for the rest of the train ride, or for the way from the station to the school. They were not in the Great Hall for the feast, either, and by the time food appeared on their plates, Draco felt so sick he couldn’t get anything down.

Where were the two of them? Surely, if they had just missed the train, they would have ended up waiting for them at school? Floo travelling was infinitesimally faster than a train ride across the entire country, after all. They’d have had enough time to turn up here while the rest of the students were on their way. So where were they?

Draco noticed that, at some point, Snape picked up McGonagall and Dumbledore and lead them out of the hall - something that struck Draco as very odd. The Headmaster leaving throughout the welcoming feast? Not something that usually happened, he was sure. He looked over to where Hermione was sitting with Longbottom, and it seemed like she, too, had noticed and was equally intrigued.

It was then, that murmurs started to reach his ears.

“Apparently the car was enchanted to fly-”

“-crashed right into a tree with it-”

“I hope they get expelled!”

“Would serve Potter right!”

“What was that?” Draco asked the group of fourth years sitting not far from him sharply. They all looked up at Draco as if he was something particularly disgusting found at the sole of their boots, and proceeded to ignore him, acting as if he had not spoken.

Draco’s entrails seemed to knot themselves into a tight bundle. When Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape returned, though, they offered no explanations, though the latter two both looked extremely sour.

Dumbledore, though, seemed cheerful as always, and he held his usual speech without a sign of disruption. He then proceeded to send them off to their dormitories, and Draco, still as confused as ever, had no choice but to follow his house mates down to the dungeons.

  


It wasn’t until the next morning that he finally came face to face with Harry.

“Let me get this straight,” Draco held up one hand and rubbed his temple with the other, more for the effect of it than to chase away an actual headache. “You actually flew that flying car - that Mr Weasley illegally enchanted, for that matter - all the way from London to Hogwarts, and crashed it into the Whomping Willow, which almost beat you to death?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, making a face. “It wasn’t one of our brightest ideas.”

“I’d say so,” Draco shook his head, but he was frowning, curiosity winning over exasperation. “But why couldn’t you get through to the platform?”

“No idea,” Harry shrugged, biting into the sandwich he had snatched before he and Draco had made their way out to the grounds, searching the solitude of a walk for their first real conversation since the last term. “But it’s weird, isn’t it? First the elf, and now this…”

“More than weird,” Draco frowned. “And after a year spent with you, my tolerance for weirdness has increased drastically, mind you.”

Harry chuckled, and a comfortable silence fell between them as they strolled by the lake, which was glittering under the brightness of the morning sun.

“So, how about you?” Harry asked, catching Draco’s eyes. “I see your father let you come back, after all. I was kind of afraid he wouldn’t.”

“As long as Mother has any say in it, he can’t do any real harm,” Draco shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past her to really pack up and leave. Divorce isn’t viewed very highly among purebloods, but when it comes down to my happiness, she doesn’t really seem to care much about propriety.”

“She’s your mother,” Harry said, very quietly. “She wants what's best for you.” There was a short moment of silence, in which Draco wondered if they should change the subject - Mothers and their love for their sons was a rather touchy subject for Harry, after all - but Harry continued a moment later, a smile returning on his face. “Mrs Weasley, at least, was outraged by your father’s behaviour. It seems like Ron’s whole family warmed up to you just for standing up to him.”

“That’s… nice,” Draco blinked, surprised. He was beginning to thoroughly review his image of the Weasley family - Weasley himself excluded, of course. No amount of time would make Weasley less bothersome.

  


Draco’s first day went by rather calmly, and between classes, homework and some of the usual taunts from his house mates, he could feel the beginnings of a routine slipping back into place from where it had lain dormant since June. Harry, though, seemed to have had an entirely different return experience. When they met in the library after dinner he spent most of the time raging about Lockhart in whispered tones, with Hermione looking low-key affronted and Weasley observing his broken wand with an air of depression.

“I told you he’s an attention-seeking airhead,” Draco muttered, absentmindedly noting down some facts to use for his Transfiguration essay. “He probably feels threatened by another celebrity in such close proximity.”

“He’s a bloody menace!” Harry hissed. “He’s trying to make _me_ seem like the attention-seeking airhead! All I want is to be bloody left alone!”

“I know you do,” Draco reassured him. “And honestly, everyone at this school who doesn’t fancy him will soon know better than to listen to anything he says, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“He’s a teacher, you know,” Hermione muttered, an edge to her voice. “You’ll _need_ to listen to him if you want to pass your exams!”

“If those are anything like the quiz he gave us today, we can get all answers by regularly reading _Witch Weekly_ , anyways,” Ron muttered miserably, poking at the spello-tape around the crack in his wand, flinching when red sparks emanated from the tip.

Hermione glared at him and buried her face in her Herbology book, not speaking to them for the rest of the night. Still, despite especially annoying teachers and especially grumpy Gryffindors, Draco marvelled in the normalcy of it all.

It was good to be back at Hogwarts, he decided.


	2. Scary Slytherin Tales That Are Not Quite As Fictional As Assumed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm so happy to see how many of you keep following this story into the second instalment! Thank you for all your lovely feedback, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter, as the story starts rolling, so to say

Their first week of lessons would have been blessedly uneventful if not for three major sources of annoyance: The first was, quite unsurprisingly, Gilderoy Lockhart, who, apart from giving the most appalling lessons he had ever sat in on (and he had History of Magic twice a week), seemed to have made it his own pet project to infuriate the hell out of Harry, and therefore Draco, who had to deal with a perpetually frustrated friend. 

The second source was a first year Gryffindor called Colin Creevey, a Muggleborn boy who worshipped Harry like he was Merlin himself and had taken to following him around like a lovesick puppy. Which might have amused Draco, even, if the stalker tendencies of the midget didn’t cut into the already preciously little time he had to spend with his friend between classes, homework and separate living quarters. He felt he had gotten quite good at not whining about being the only stray Slytherin in a group of Gryffindors and being therefore always a little on the outside, but he was not going to give up his share of attention towards an annoying kid with a camera who would have better been suited to an internship at _Witch Weekly_ than a school for (mostly) sane people. 

The third source of annoyance - or maybe ‘stress’ was the more appropriate term in this case - was Draco’s looming debut as a member of the Slytherin Quidditch team. By Friday night, when Flint informed him that he was expected to his first training session the next morning, he still had not broken the news to his friends. He knew, rationally, that he could not hide it from them forever, but he could not help but feel like accepting the position was something shameful that put him on the same level as his father. 

“I won’t hold you to the deal you cut with Father, you know,” Draco commented in a desperate attempt to assuage his own guilt. “If you want to set tryouts, I’d be happy to participate.”

“What would be the point?” Flint demanded, looking at him like he’d lost it. “If I don’t give the position to you, I’ll have to hand over the brooms, and there is just no way. So you’d better not back out, Malfoy!” he added, eyes narrowing at Draco. “I’ll personally drown you in the lake if you do!”

So Draco had ceased his feeble protests and resigned himself to the unusual situation he had found himself in - the one where his Slytherin ambition screamed at him to stop complaining and take the chance at something he had wanted to do even before he had started school, while the part of him that had been whipped by his friendship with someone as righteous as Harry simultaneously made him feel like he was doing something wrong and immoral. He could always give his best and prove to the world that he deserved the position, he tried to console himself. He was a good flyer. Brilliant, even, he could claim with pride. No one would be able to protest Flint’s decision to make him Seeker once they had seen him on the pitch, could they? 

Still, he dreaded the looks he knew his Gryffindor friends were going to give him for participating in such a vile play of power. The thought of disappointing Harry scared him like nothing else.

He slept very little in the following night, and when he made his way down to the pitch with his teammates the next morning after breakfast, he felt a little sick. His stomach gave a lurch the moment he spotted people up in the air, though, and, trying not to sound too hopeful, he pointed out: “The pitch is blocked! Maybe we should just-”

“Oh, no,” Flint interrupted him, smiling in a way that Draco didn’t like at all. “I have a special permission from Snape, since I need to train you. Wood will just have to share.”

“Wood?” Draco repeated in horror. “Is that Gryffindor up there?”

“Yup,” Flint nodded with no little amount of glee, completely at odds with how Draco felt at the prospect of training alongside the Gryffindor team. 

Harry would see him. And he’d see the brooms, too. And there was nothing Draco could do to stop the train wreck ahead of him. Draco had spent a lot of time imagining how the news of his father’s scheme would be accepted by the Gryffindors, but this was definitely way worse than anything he could have pictured in his wildest fantasies. 

Wood was shouting at Flint as soon as he caught sight of him, and his whole team followed him to the ground to investigate the source of their interruption. They were not the only ones, though, Draco noted with rising distress as they were approached from the distance by Hermione, Weasley and Creevey, his infamous camera clicking away merrily as if Draco needed a photo to commemorate this moment. 

“I booked the pitch!” Wood yelled at Flint, outraged. “I booked it!”

“Ah,” said Flint, a nasty smile on his lips. “but I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.” He cleared his throat and held the note up to his face dramatically before he read out loud. “‘ _I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new seeker._ ’”

“You’ve got a new seeker?” Wood asked, apparently caught off guard. “Where?”

Draco closed his eyes, feeling paralyzed. There was a stunned silence, and Harry was the one to break it. 

“Draco?” he asked, sounding aghast. 

Draco slowly opened his eyes and raised them to meet Harry’s. Rather than angry, he looked at him blankly, as if he could not make the connection between Flint’s announcement and Draco’s presence within the group of Slytherin players to save his life. 

“Draco’s father has kindly agreed to sponsor our team,” Flint continued gleefully, holding his broom so that the Gryffindor’s could see the brand name engraved on the handle more easily. “Look at the generous gift he has made to us.”

The others followed his lead and flashed their brand new Nimbus 2001s at them - everyone but Draco, that was, who felt sicker by the minute. Flint kept talking, bragging with their new broom, and Hermione, Weasley and Creevey had finally reached them, demanding what was going on. But Draco could not look away from Harry. Their eyes were still locked, and Draco wordlessly pleaded him to understand. 

“What’s happening?” Weasley asked. “Why aren’t you playing?”

“Draco?” Hermione gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Before any of their questions could be answered, though, Harry was approaching him. He was pushing through the Slytherin players quite fearlessly for the fact that they were all considerably taller and broader than him, and grasped Draco’s wrist, pulling him away from the crowd. Draco just followed wordlessly, and he knew Hermione and Weasley were on their heels. He came to a hold when they were out of direct hearing distance from the others, and turned to Draco, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Explain,” was all he said.

“Father sponsored the team under the condition that I could play Seeker,” Draco answered, his voice lifeless to his own ears.

“And you accepted?!” Weasley demanded, lashing on him furiously.

“I tried to get out of it!” Draco pointed out uncomfortably. “But Flint was adamant. Me backing out would mean for them to hand back the brooms, and he wouldn’t ever let me live that down, you know he wouldn’t!”

“Who cares?!” Weasley snapped. “Since when do you care if the Slytherins hate you or not?!”

“This is different!” Draco protested, looking at Harry inquiringly, praying for him to understand. 

“Bloody hell it is!” Weasley scoffed. “It’s just inconvenient for you because you’d need to give up your position on the team! We all know you always wanted to play!”

“Ron,” Hermione warned. 

“It’s true, though!” Weasley called. “He doesn’t care if his git of a father bought him into the team, as long as he gets the benefits from it!”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, more urgently.

“What?!” Weasley demanded, turning on her, his ears red. “I always told you, he’s just like his father!”

“I’m _not!_ ” Draco called defensively, the same moment Harry said loudly: “Shut it, Ron!”

They all looked up at Harry, but the other boy was looking at Draco, a slight frown on his face.

“Draco never asked for this,” Harry muttered, and with a sideways look at where Wood was still fighting with Flint, he added: “And it is true that the Slytherins would make his life hell if he backed out. I’ve seen what they are capable of last year, and personally, I’d prefer Draco not having to go through that again.” 

Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“So you don’t hate me?” he asked, rather stupidly, he felt. 

“As if I’d ever hate you, after what we went through together last year,” Harry rolled his eyes at him. “For the way you always berate my intelligence, you ask pretty dumb questions, you know.”

“‘Berate’?” Draco repeated with a smile. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

Harry gave him a look of exasperation, but there was no heat in it.

“Am I the only one who cares about this being unfair?!” Weasley demanded angrily.

“No one questions the unfairness of Mr Malfoy’s behaviour, Ron,” Hermione elbowed the redhead, rather harshly. “But I think we can all agree that we’d play right into his hands if we turned against Draco because of it. He wants us to stop being his friends, remember?”

Weasley grumbled something under his breath as he rubbed his ribs where Hermione’s elbow had hit him, but remained silent. 

“Exactly,” Harry nodded in determination. “Now let’s go back before my team captain kills yours and get back to training. I’d like to get something to eat at some point today. Preferably before that damned detention with Lockhart.”

Draco smiled, silently thanking Harry for simply being himself (as opposed to Weasley), and followed him to where their teammates were still yelling at each other. 

  


Things should have been quiet and even fun after that particular worry was taken off Draco’s shoulders - after all, he was finally back at school with his friends, and he was allowed to play Quidditch (if not with those friends, but beggars couldn’t be choosers), and he spent the excess time studying like the nerd he secretly was. But after last year, Draco should have learned that it never was that easy at Hogwarts, especially if you were friends with Gryffindors, and Harry Potter in particular. 

There was that thing about Harry hearing a dubious voice muttering about murder that no one but him could hear during that detention with Lockhart he had had to endure due to their ill-advised journey to Hogwarts. Now, that had been scary, but Draco could, with some effort, ignore the trouble it announced. Harry had spent hours in a room with Lockhart that night, after all. Draco would have certainly gone temporarily insane in his position. All was well. 

Hogwarts, though, went purposefully out of its way to remind him that it was _not well_ at all on the night of Halloween. The evening had been odd and unpleasant in itself - Harry had let himself get roped into attending the Gryffindor ghost’s miserable Death Day Party, which had been miserable for more reasons than just the fact that it celebrated the death of a person, but then, when they made their way back up to the Great Hall to see if there was still any actually edible food left, Harry had heard that voice again. And then, they had stumbled over Mrs Norris - which would have been even less pleasant than the party in normal circumstances, but the fact that she was petrified did, quite surprisingly, actually make it worse. Because she was _literally_ petrified, not just stunned into stillness by the simple appalling fact that her owner was a filthy prick. No, it had literally turned into stone, complete with a creepy message written on the wall, with blood and all. The stuff nightmares were made of, basically. And that was the moment Draco knew his quiet and fun year had just gone down the drain of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. 

Of course, because things could always get worse, that was how they were found. Alone at the scene of the crime with the words ‘THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.’ flashing incriminatingly above their heads. 

“My cat! My cat!” Filch shrieked in despair, falling to his knees. “What’s happened to Mrs Norris!” There was only a split-second of silence before his eyes zoomed in on the four of them.

“No!” Draco said immediately, holding up his hands. “I know what you are going to say, but it wasn’t us!”

“You’ve killed her!” Filch roared, completely ignoring Draco’s words. “I’ll-”

“Argus!” Dumbledore's warning voice cut the caretaker off as he approached the scene. 

He took just a moment to observe, and then, they all found themselves swept off to Lockhart’s office with him, cat stature included. There was a lot of discussion about what exactly could have happened (mostly a monologue by Lockhart as Dumbledore stared at the cat as if he was trying to read her like a book, and Snape and McGonagall staring at Dumbledore in quite the same manner), and a lot of wailing from Filch. Draco might have been annoyed if he hadn’t been so horrified over the general situation they had found themselves in.

At last, Dumbledore spoke, announcing that Mrs Norris was not dead, but he had no idea how exactly she had been petrified. The only thing he was sure about, it seemed, was that the four of them hadn’t done it. Draco could have hugged him.

“He did it, he did it!” Filch called, not wanting to accept the words and pointing at Harry. “You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found- in my office - he knows I’m a - I’m a -” He seemed to have trouble getting the words past his lips, but finally, he snapped: “I’m a Squib!”

Draco was raising his eyebrows at that new information, but Harry was already responding. “I never _touched_ Mrs Norris!” he called angrily. “And I don’t even know what a Squib _is_!”

“Rubbish!” snapped Filch. “He saw my Kwikspell letter!”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” Snape spoke up, and Draco’s eyes zoomed in on him, narrowing. Whatever his Head of House had to say to the matter, it could not be good. And he was right. Snape proceeded to question their whereabouts during the feast, and their intentions of not joining it after the party but proceeding into the first-floor corridor towards the crime scene. As they tried to defend themselves and simultaneously conceal the existence of voices in Harry’s head, McGonagall came to their defence, arguing with her colleague until the Headmaster intervened. 

“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” Dumbledore declared, and under immense protest from Filch’s side and the promise that Mrs Norris would be revived by a potion made from Professor Sprout’s Mandrakes, they were released. 

“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” Harry asked the moment they were out of earshot. 

Weasley protested immediately, and for once, Draco had to agree with him. 

“Snape would have been only too happy to declare you insane and dangerous and ship you off to St. Mungo’s,” Draco muttered. “Better not give him anything to work his evil mind with.”

“You do believe me, don’t you?” Harry asked, looking at them searchingly. Weasley and Hermione immediately hurried to agree, but Draco took a moment to consider. He was not sure if he’d believed it until tonight, but the sound of that mysterious voice leading Harry towards a petrified cat and a message proclaiming that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened…

“This is no coincidence,” Draco said, out loud. “Whatever this voice is, it led you into this whole mess for a reason.”

Harry looked relieved at Draco’s declaration.

“But what was that writing on the wall about?” he asked. “‘ _The Chamber has been opened_ ’... What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you never hear about the legend of the Chamber of Secrets?” Draco asked, looking up in surprise. Harry’s expression was blank, but Weasley was frowning, and so was Hermione.

“It rings a sort of bell,” Weasley muttered. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might’ve been Bill…” 

“I think I read something in _Hogwarts, A History_ ,” Hermione added, biting her lip. “But I can’t remember.”

“Well, it’s a Slytherin tale,” Draco frowned. “It might be less popular with you folks.”

“What’s it about?” Harry asked. 

“Long story short, Salazar Slytherin was a bitter and evil bastard,” Draco shrugged, his frown deepening. “He wanted Muggle-borns out of the school, and when the other founders refused to oblige, he built this chamber where he hid a dangerous monster and left the school without telling anybody where it was. Only his ‘true heir’ is supposed to be able to open it and use the monster to clean the school of Muggle-borns.”

“Ugh,” Weasley made a face. “Evil bastard indeed.”

“It’s a thing pureblood elitists like to refer to, but I always thought it was just a tale,” Draco pointed out. 

“You don’t think it’s actually real, do you?” Weasley frowned. “It sounds like a prank someone like Nott would pull to scare Muggle-borns.”

“It does seem kind of farfetched that a giant monster would have survived within the school for thousands of years only to be released now,” Hermione frowned. “But then again, _something_ must have attacked Mrs Norris…”

An uncomfortable silence fell among them at those words, only to be broken by the chiming of the clock.

“Midnight,” Harry muttered. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

They agreed and parted ways, Harry, Hermione and Weasley making their way up to the Gryffindor Tower and Draco taking the stairs down towards the dungeons with a heavy feeling in his stomach.

The Slytherin common room was loud and lively despite the hour, everyone’s spirits strangely high due to the events of the night. It was obvious that the vast majority of his house thought the whole thing was a fabulous joke. He could see Nott talking animatedly in a corner, with Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Bulstrode and Greengrass gathered around him, laughing at whatever he was saying. Draco quickly made his way towards his dormitory before they noticed him. 

The only other person already in bed was, quite unsurprisingly, Zabini. The boy had always been a quiet, brooding fellow, and Draco could see why he would not enjoy the ruckus of the common room. He showed no signs of noticing Draco’s entrance, so Draco quickly changed into his pyjamas and drew the curtains behind him, glad to be alone with his thoughts.

He thought about the events of the night, and all the other strange things that had happened in the last couple of months. The house elf appearing at the house of Harry’s relatives, asking Harry to stay away from school. Harry and Weasley being unable to get onto platform nine and three quarters. The voice Harry had heard two times now. There had to be some connection to all of it, right? Something that would explain why this was happening, and who the one behind it all was. Draco tried hard to put it together, but the exhaustion of the day caught up with him, and soon he dozed off, no closer to the answer than he had been before.

  


The next couple of days were filled with wide speculation over the Chamber of Secrets, not only from the better part of the school but (and was anyone really surprised by that?) especially from his meddlesome Gryffindor friends. In the time they spent away from Draco, they had already managed to bully Professor Binns into retelling the exact legend of the Chamber, search the girl's bathroom adjacent to the crime scene and get caught by Weasley’s older Prefect brother at it, all in the matter of a day. 

“I was so looking forward to a year without a trap door or an invaluable alchemic substance to worry about,” Draco pointed out woefully. “And now we have a legendary Chamber.”

The Gryffindors ignored him, instead continuing their own discussion about who the heir of Slytherin could be.

“I’m telling you, it’s Nott!” Weasley insisted.

“It’s not Nott,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“How do you know?” Weasley asked, rounding up on him and glaring. The other boy had been slightly more hostile since the whole broom debacle, but usually, Hermione stepped on his foot when he became rude. Today, though, she raised an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly.

“Because,” Draco said placatingly. “the thing about pureblood families is that their history is well-documented. And I can assure you that if Nott’s family had a direct link to Salazar Slytherin, I would know, because he’d ask us to kneel down and worship him.”

“Isn’t that basically what he already does?” Harry asked, making a face.

“He’d be double as obnoxious,” Draco promised. “I assure you, it’s not him.”

“You should have heard the way he talks about the Chamber, though,” Weasley spat. “Speculating who gets killed next, threatening Hermione, …”

“In case you have forgotten, I share a dormitory with him,” Draco grumbled. “I know how he talks. He’s always had a big mouth, though. That never equated with any real power before.”

“What if it _is_ him, though?” Harry frowned, and when Draco opened his mouth to shoot him down, he continued: “No, really, Draco, think about it. The elf trying to keep me away from school? The way Ron and I couldn’t get through the platform? Who would have a motive to go that far to get us in trouble?”

“Then why hasn’t anything happened to me?” Draco countered. “Nott hates me more than he hates you!”

“He might not dare to do anything under your father’s nose,” Hermione suggested. “Plus, if he wanted to isolate you, the best way would be to keep Harry away, wouldn’t it?”

Draco held in, frowning at her.

“You might have a point there,” he admitted. “But still-”

“I think it’s worth investigating,” Harry announced.

“And how are we supposed to investigate Nott without him noticing?” Draco demanded. “He’s a Slytherin, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s not dumb, and you three are many things but you aren’t discreet.”

“There might be a way,” Hermione murmured, her brows drawn together in concentration, and she leaned closer to them, dropping her voice to not be overheard. “Of course it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I’d expect.”

“Oh, that sounds promising,” Draco deadpanned. Hermione ignored him.

“What we’d need to do is to question Nott without him realising it’s us.”

“But that’s impossible,” Harry pointed out.

“No, it’s not. All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.”

Draco stared at her incredulously, cutting off Harry and Weasley as they asked what Hermione was talking about, instead declaring: “You’re mental! Where are we supposed to get Polyjuice Potion?!”

“It’s a potion that transforms you into someone else,” Hermione explained to Harry and Weasley, before turning to Draco and saying: “We’d have to brew it, of course.”

“Brew it?” Draco repeated. “Hermione, this potion is NEWTs level. No, more than NEWTs level, I’d expect. And it’s bloody dangerous if we screw it up.”

“So you’re trying to say you don’t trust me to do it?” Hermione asked, obviously stung. 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Draco groaned. “I’m saying your idea is mental!”

“But the three of us could change into Slytherins, and you could let us into your common room. It would be so easy to question him!”

“Hermione,” Draco said, exasperated. “Even if Nott _is_ the heir of Slytherin, do you really think he’d be stupid enough to boast about it in the common room? This is Slytherin house, not Hufflepuff! You can’t trust anyone in there farther than you can throw them!”

“Hear, hear,” Ron grumbled.

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Hermione asked moodily.

“Yes,” Draco returned. “Just leave it well be for _once_ in your life! The teachers will handle it!”

“Like they handled Quirrel last year?” Harry pointed out, obviously as frustrated with him as Hermione was.

“You might note that Quirrel would never have gotten near the stone if you hadn’t picked it up from the Mirror of Erised with your pure intentions in the first place,” Draco said darkly. “And I’m not blaming you!” Draco added as Harry opened his mouth to argue. “It was a messed up situation and we did what we thought was right. That doesn’t mean that, now that we are a year older, we can’t learn from it and _not act rashly_!” All three glared at him, unimpressed. “I’m fighting a losing battle, aren’t I?” Draco sighed, speaking to himself in despair. “You’re going to do it anyways and I will have to clean up after you to make sure you’re not caught.”

“It’s better than sitting around waiting for more attacks to happen!” Hermione huffed. 

“I agree,” Harry nodded, with an air of finality. “Now how do we make that potion?”

Draco groaned, burying his face in his hands and cursing his life.

  



	3. Bloody House Elves and Maniac Fathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Real life has been hellish lately and I did not have much time to write on this story, but I finally found a small time frame to proof-read this chapter and update. I think this is the chapter most of you have been waiting for, so I'm excited to see your reaction to it :) Thanks, as always, for all your support, and I hope you enjoy this!

Hermione received the book with the instructions from the restricted section of the library because Lockhart was brainless and believed her feeble excuse about wanting to do research for his book. The potion, like Draco had predicted, was extremely complicated to make and required them to steal ingredients from Snape’s personal store, which did not make Draco any more keen on the whole plan. All he could hope for was that within the month it would take to complete it, the real heir of Slytherin would have revealed himself and an interrogation of Nott would not be necessary anymore.

Draco was not sure if he was thankful or not that the first Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, was etching closer. On one hand, it gave Harry something other to do than breaking school rules and getting them all in trouble, but on the other hand, Draco would have to face Harry on the pitch, and he was quite frankly a little scared of that.

It would all have been different if Draco had played for Hufflepuff of Ravenclaw. He could have mindlessly thrown himself into some friendly rivalry, and they could have walked off the field afterwards arm in arm, laughing about it. But with him being part of the Slytherin team, he was basically a soldier in a war he had no intention to fight. Both teams hated each other with a passion that was only inflamed further by the intervention of his father’s gold and Draco knew that, no matter what the outcome of the match would be, it would not reflect positively on him. If they won, all Slytherins would claim it was because of their brooms and call them cheaters, and as much as Harry ensured him that he was not blaming Draco, he knew that he would be bitter after a defeat. If they lost, though, his team would blame Draco’s close ties to Gryffindors, and especially Harry. No matter which way the wind blew, Draco could not win, and he was painfully aware of that.

The Sunday of the match was a cloudy day with the threat of rain hanging in the air. Harry had smiled at him from across the Great Hall during breakfast but they hadn’t talked, and they had set off to the pitch separately, surrounded by their respective teams.

“Now, Malfoy,” Flint rounded Draco up as they got dressed in their dark green Quidditch robes. “I don’t care if Potter is your best friend. If you have to do it to win, you _will_ kick him off the broom!”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again, knowing fair well that protesting the order would do no good. So he just nodded, not looking at Flint as he did so lest he would spot the lie.

As they walked out to the pitch, they received mainly boos from the crowd. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, as usual, had sided with Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, and all of them seemed to be furious about the unfair advantage Draco’s father had given their team. Draco saw some people in the crowd sending him rude gestures, and he tried not to look at them too closely after that. Though it was hard to not spot Weasley throwing insults at the Slytherin team with all his might.

When the Gryffindor team joined them out, the looks on their faces were determined and dangerous. Even Harry’s mouth was drawn into a thin line, and he did not meet Draco’s eyes.

“Mount your brooms!” Madam Hooch called, and Draco hastily tore his eyes away from his friend to obey. “On my whistle! Three… two… one…”

They all sped up in the air as soon as the sign came, and the battle for the Quaffle broke out immediately. Draco tried not to watch too closely, aware that it would do no good to get distracted from his task, especially with an opponent like Harry, who was a natural born Seeker. So he rose into the air and let his eyes wander, trying to spot the little golden Snitch.

It took not long, though, for Draco’s eyes to fall on Harry. He frowned as he saw the other boy surrounded by the Weasley twins, who were trying hard to shield him from what looked like a single Bludger persistently trying to go for Harry. Draco gaped, freezing mid-air and watching.

“What the bloody hell,” he muttered to himself before he threw all professionalism to the wind and approached them as far as he dared.

“What’s wrong?” he called towards Harry.

“Someone tampered with this Bludger, that’s what’s wrong!” one of the twins yelled. “Stay away, Malfoy, because we’re not going to save your neck if you get in the way!”

Meanwhile, the other twin was signalling to their captain for a timeout, and soon, the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle rang through the air.

Draco watched, thunderstruck, as the Bludger tried to still go after Harry even when the game was stopped. What in the name of Merlin was going on? Draco desperately looked around, trying to spot something unusual - maybe someone was jinxing the Bludger the same way Quirrell had jinxed Harry’s broom the previous year - but it was hard to make out details from the crowd from the pitch, and soon, he was hit in the back of his head by Flint.

“What are you doing?” Flint demanded. “Concentrate on finding the Snitch and not on Potter!”

“But-” Draco began. “There’s something going on! You know that this Bludger is behaving dodgily!”

“Who cares!” Flint grumbled. “If it pulls Potter from the match, all the better for us!” He pushed at Draco’s shoulder, hard. “I told you not to let your friendship with Potter get into the way of our victory!” he reminded him. “I swear, if you lose us this match because of him, I’ll make you pay!”

Draco had a thousand scathing replies on his tongue, but he bit them down and just glared at Flint, who glared right back. Their staring match was interrupted by Madam Hooch’s whistle.

“Everyone, back on your brooms!” she called. “We’ll continue!”

With a last sneer, Flint turned away from Draco and mounted his broom. So did Draco, but his eyes were already searching for Harry. It appeared that he had convinced the Weasley twins to let him handle the Bludger by himself, Draco noted with despair. The bloody _idiot_!

The next couple of minutes were the longest of Draco’s life. He had given up on looking for the Snitch - not a conscious decision, but a byproduct of the fact that his eyes were glued to the way Harry flew in daredevil manoeuvres to throw the Bludger of its course. A couple of times he had to call out to Harry because of near-collisions, and frankly, Draco hadn’t felt so terrified of anything since they had gone down the trapdoor last term.

It was then that Harry held in, as if frozen in spot, and stared at Draco with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?!” Draco yelled. “Watch ou-”

It was too late. The Bludger ran into Harry’s elbow with full force, and there was the sick sound of bones breaking and Harry’s grunt of pain. Draco cursed, and automatically made to approach him, Bludger be damned, but then, Harry sped past him in grim determination.

Everything happened too fast then, and Draco’s brain was not working nearly quickly enough to catch up. Harry’s unhurt hand closed around the Snitch, and then his broom headed to the ground in alarming speed. Draco sped after him and caught up with Harry just in time to pull the other boy off his broom and against him before he crashed. Harry groaned against Draco in pain as Draco landed them rather clumsily, but without further injuries.

“You bloody idiot!” Draco snapped as he turned to face Harry. “Not only was that catch of yours terribly unfair-”

“I had a mad Bludger chasing after me all match, and you complain about unfairness?” Harry asked faintly, almost smiling.

“-but you also risked your neck in the process! Do you know how dangerous that was?! You damned _Gryffindor_! Do you even realise what could have happened?!”

“I…” Harry opened his mouth to respond, but then, he drifted off and fell silent. His eyes fell closed, and his head lolled against Draco’s shoulder.

“Harry!” Draco yelled, shaking him, but the other boy didn’t react, having lost conscience.

Harry’s whole team was there, then, pushing Draco away to gain access to their hurt Seeker. Draco whirled around, trying to spot Madam Hooch and demand for Harry to be taken to the hospital wing, but then, Lockhart pushed his way past him.

“Fear not!” he called, far too cheerfully for Draco’s taste. “I will have him fixed in no time!”

“No!” Draco said immediately, but no one seemed to hear him, except apparently Harry, who chose that moment to open his eyes and glance up at Lockhart kneeling down at his side.

“Oh no,” he moaned. “Not you.”

“Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Lockhart announced, and Draco felt the overwhelming urge to grasp the Beater’s bat one of the Weasley twins had dropped and clunk him over the head with it.

There was an uproar of protests - from Harry, his team, and the Gryffindors who had gathered around him, and Draco - but Lockhart ignored them all, only to confidently remove Harry’s bones from his arm completely. Draco could swear that Crabbe and Goyle had more competency than Lockhart did - at least they knew better than to attempt magic they were too stupid for. 

It was when Harry was _finally_ shipped off to the infirmary, though, that Weasley was suddenly all in his face, face almost as scarlet as his Gryffindor scarf and notably darker than his hair as he glowered down at Draco in anger. Hermione was clinging to his arm in a desperate attempt to keep Weasley in check, wide-eyed.

“Was it you?!” Weasley demanded, outraged. “Did you hex that Bludger to win?!”

Draco just stared at Weasley incredulously for a moment, unsure if he had heard correctly, before he pushed him, hard.

“Draco!” Hermione hissed, but Draco was already shouting.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he roared. “Do you really think I’d put Harry’s life at risk to win a stupid Quidditch match?! You complete-”

“Who knows?!” Weasley returned, if possible, flushed even darker. “After the way you let your father buy your way into the team-”

“I did not ask for this, you moron!” he called, and now Hermione had to hold onto him to make sure he did not hit Weasley. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am _not_ my father?!”

“Draco, please calm down!” Hermione pleaded. “We know it wasn’t you! Ron is just-”

“Mental?” Draco offered. “Has utterly lost it?”

“That’s quite enough, Mr Malfoy!” Madam Hooch said coolly, stepping between them. “10 points each from you and Mr Weasley! Now, if you would please get to your changing room! Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, off the pitch, please! The match is over!”

Weasley threw Draco another glare before he turned his back to him and stalked off into the direction of the school. Hermione gave Draco a look of despair, and with a whispered: “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”, she hurried to follow him.

Draco, therefore, was left alone to be yelled at by not only his team captain but his entire team. He could not care less, though. The fact that Weasley would actually accuse him of hurting Harry stung more than anything they could ever say to him.

  


Draco was not allowed to see Harry that night. When he arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was already throwing out the complete Gryffindor team, Weasley and Hermione, insisting that Harry needed rest to regrow his bones.

Hermione hung back to talk to Draco, trying to reassure him that neither Harry nor her thought that he had anything to do with that Bludger and that Weasley would see it the same way once he’d calmed down enough to think straight. Draco, on his part, seriously doubted that.

“You heard what he said,” he reminded her bitterly. “He’ll always group me in with my father, no matter what I do! I’ll always be the Death Eater’s son and the evil Slytherin plotting against everything that’s good and _Gryffindor_! Next, he’ll accuse me of being the Heir of Slytherin, you’ll see!”

“Of course he won’t, don’t be ridiculous” Hermione sighed. “We shouldn’t turn against each other when there’s obviously someone out there who’s actually after Harry. _Again_.”

“ _I’m_ not turning against anyone!” Draco pointed out. “ _I_ spent a whole Quidditch match worrying about keeping Harry alive, in case you missed it, and in return, I got yelled at from both my team and my friends! So don’t turn this against me!”

“I’m not!” Hermione ensured him, hands held up in the air in surrender. “I- Please, Draco, just calm down! I’ll go and talk to Ron, and I’ll make sure he apologizes to you. What he said was out of line. Now please, don’t rip anyone’s head off before dinner, alright?”

Draco glared at her, but wisely, did not return anything. The promised apology, naturally, never came, but Draco had not really expected one. Instead, when Harry got released from the hospital wing the next day, he had news that made Draco forget all of his anger.

“Creevey was petrified?!” Draco demanded after he had picked Harry up. “And what do you mean, the house elf was back?!”

“Will you let me finish at least one part of the story?!” Harry elbowed him. “And don’t be so loud, people might hear! By the way, have you seen Ron and Hermione?” he added, looking around as if he expected them to round the corner any moment. “They need to hear this too.”

“They weren’t at breakfast,” Draco answered, a little sourly at the mention of Weasley. “Maybe they’re waiting for you in your common room so you can have nice little Gryffindor talks without me.”

Harry looked at him, searching his face and frowning.

“Don’t tell me you and Ron fought _again_ while I was hospitalized?” he pinpointed, his expression pained.

“Nevermind that now,” Draco sighed. “Tell me about the elf! What did it want?”

“Well,” Harry grimaced. “Turns out he was the one jinxing the Bludger. And, um, blocking the entrance to platform nine and three quarters on September First. He wants me out of Hogwarts because of the Chamber of Secrets being opened again.”

“ _Again_?!” Draco repeated. “It’s been opened before?”

“That’s what Dobby said,” Harry confirmed, and Draco froze in his steps at those words, making Harry hold in, too, staring at his friend in confusion. “Draco?”

“What did you just say?” Draco breathed, feeling cold all over.

“That the Chamber has been opened before?”

“No, that-” Draco blinked, shaking his head. “What did you say the elf was called?”

Harry looked at him intently as he answered: “Dobby. I said that last time, didn’t I?”

“No,” Draco muttered automatically. “You never mentioned a name in the letter.”

“Do you know Dobby?” Harry asked eagerly, taking a step closer to him. “Is it Nott’s elf?”

Draco took a step back as Harry approached, much like a frightened animal. He felt Harry’s eyes burning into him, but panic was flooding his veins and he could not meet them.

“No,” Draco lied. “I just - I misheard. I thought you said something else.”

“Really?” Harry muttered, and he sounded suspicious. Of course, he sounded suspicious, Draco thought hysterically - but that was nothing against how he would look at him if he knew that his father’s elf had known about the Chamber of Secret reopening this year since summer, which meant, almost surely, that his father had his hands in the whole thing. So Draco steeled himself. He closed down his emotions, the way his mother had taught him to at a young age, and schooled his expression into a neutral one. Finally, he met Harry’s eyes and shook his head.

“Sorry,” Draco sighed. “I thought you’d said Dolly, and for a moment I thought of the Parkinson’s elf, but… I jumped to conclusions.”

“I see,” Harry nodded, his face clearing. It was painful to see how quickly the other boy believed him, but then again, Draco knew he was good at this. It was the one thing his parents had made sure he learned - composure. “Easy to do, really. The whole thing is making everyone jumpy.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, making a face. “So, what else did Dobby say?” He forced his voice to not crack at the name.

“Nor much,” Harry sighed. “It seemed like he can’t really say as much as he wanted to because he was working against the orders of his Master? And whichever family he belongs to, they seem to be treating him horribly.”

“Pureblood families rarely treat house elves with dignity,” Draco nodded, but his mind was already somewhere else. His thoughts were spinning and tumbling over each other. _What was he going to_ do?!

“Anyways, we really need to go looking for Ron and Hermione,” Harry announced. “Are you coming?”

“I told you, they are probably in your common room,” Draco said, grasping onto the chance to excuse himself without drawing any attention to it and clinging to it viciously. “Why don’t you go up and look? I’ll meet you in the library later.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, already taking a step down the corridor, into the direction of the Gryffindor tower. “We’ll meet you there!”

Draco nodded and watched Harry’s back as he hurried out of sight. Only when he was truly gone did Draco allow his facade to crumble. His breathing sped up, quite without his input, and he wrapped his arms around his own torso, trying to physically fight down the panic attack he felt approaching.

It was his father. He was not sure how he had done it, but his father had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Draco had refused to break his ties with Muggleborns and Blood Traitors, and now, his father had taken it into his own hands to cleanse the school of them.

Draco was not sure how long he stood there, in the middle of the corridor, hyperventilating, until a voice snapped him out of it.

“Mr Malfoy? What are you doing here?”

Draco looked up into the face of Professor Snape. His Head of House was watching him sharply, as if trying to look through him, and Draco immediately threw his walls up, trying to clear his head. He was not sure if Snape was a Legilimens, but he was not going to take any chances.

“Nothing,” Draco said simply, as calmly as he could. “I was just on my way to the library.”

Snape was still watching him, dark eyes appearing to look right through him. Draco forced himself to not meet them, instead focusing his gaze on his teacher’s forehead.

“Very well,” Snape said slowly. “If there’s anything you want to… discuss, you know where to find me.”

Draco frowned at him, but Snape was already moving past him, walking down the corridor into the direction of the dungeons. He wondered, his panic returning, if Snape knew. If he knew that his father was involved. If he was going to tell Dumbledore. What would people say about him, Draco thought, horrified, if they knew his father had opened the Chamber of Secrets? Would they accuse Draco of helping him - of having known all along and not doing anything?

Draco took a deep breath, trying to think rationally. He had to do something. He had to collect information - if he knew how his father had opened the chamber, maybe, he figured, he could close it off again without anyone noticing.

“Dobby,” he whispered, and then, he was running.

He found an old classroom in the second floor, one of those that hadn’t been used for classes in decades. Quite sure he would not be interrupted here, he cleared his throat and spoke loudly, into the empty room: “Dobby! I’m calling you.”

It took a moment, but then, with a loud popping sound, the tiny elf appeared in front of Draco, looking up at him with his huge fearful eyes.

“Master Draco is calling Dobby?” he asked, his voice high and squeaky.

“What do you know about Father and the Chamber of Secrets?” he demanded, tone superior and unforgiving. The way his Father tended to speak, Draco noted, quite uncomfortable with that realisation.

Dobby’s eyes widened, almost comically, and he shook his head quickly.

“Dobby is not knowing anything, Master Draco!” he insisted. “Dobby is-”

“Don’t lie to me!” Draco called. “I know you’ve been to the house of Harry’s relatives this summer! I know you bewitched the entrance to platform nine and three quarters at King’s Cross to not admit Harry and Weasley! I know you hexed the Bludger to knock Harry off his broom, and that you went to see him in the infirmary last night! You know something, and I order you to tell me!”

Dobby’s eyes watered, and he idly fumbled with the dirty rag he was wearing in lieu of clothes, crumbling it between his fingers.

“Dobby cannot tell, Master Draco,” Dobby whispered. “Dobby was forbidden by Master Lucius to-”

“I’m your Master, too!” Draco cut him off. “And you’re going to tell me whatever it is he is doing, so I can stop him!”

Dobby looked taken aback at that, and his teary eyes wandered over Draco’s face searchingly.

“Master Draco is wanting to help Dobby?” Dobby whispered. “Master Draco is… helping keep Harry Potter safe?”

“Harry is my friend!” Draco burst out desperately. “Of course I want to keep him safe, and preferably not by knocking him off a bloody _broom_ or keeping him at a house he hates! But that’s not all!” he added. “I’m not going to let Father just _off_ people he doesn’t like me befriending! I’m not going to sit back and watch him hurt, or worse, _kill_ whoever he pleases!”

Dobby let out a wail and threw himself to Draco’s feet.

“Master Draco!” he sobbed. “If Dobby had known that being Harry Potter’s friend made Master Draco as noble as-”

“Oh, cut it out!” Draco said desperately. “Stop crying and tell me what it is Father is doing, will you?! A cat and a boy have been petrified! If anyone knows that the source of these attacks is the Malfoy Family-” Draco cut himself off, shuddering. “Just tell me, Dobby!” he pleaded. “How is he doing it?”

“It’s the diary, Master Draco!” Dobby whimpered, still on the ground, wiping at his face.

“The diary?” Draco repeated, nonplussed.

“The diary He Who Must Not Be Named left in Master Lucius’ possession,” Dobby nodded. “It’s - it’s dark magic, Master Draco. Really dark magic. And Master Lucius gave it to the youngest Weasley.”

“The youngest - Ginny?” Draco breathed, thunderstruck. “But how - oh Merlin, Diagon Alley!”

“Yes,” Dobby confirmed. “He put it into her cauldron. No one ever noticed.”

“And she is thick enough to use it?” Draco demanded, outraged. “I know she is Weasley’s sister but by Salazar-”

“She doesn’t realise, Master Draco,” Dobby shook his head, looking despaired. “She thinks it’s - just a diary. A diary that writes back to her.”

“Which is not creepy at all,” Draco commented sarcastically, running a hand through his hair. “I need to get it back from her.”

Dobby looked up at Draco hopefully. “Dobby could do it, Master Draco,” he offered, and he got back to his feet, at last, seeming eager to help Draco in that plot against his father. “Dobby knows where she keeps it. Dobby can go get it.”

“Do that,” Draco nodded. “Now! I’ll wait here!”

Dobby nodded, and with another popping sound, the elf was gone. It took only a couple of minutes, in which Draco paced the room wall to wall, until the elf returned, a black, leather-bound book in his hands.

“Here, Master Draco,” Dobby whispered fearfully. “This is it.”

Draco hesitated for a moment, and then, he reached out to take it. The moment he touched it, Draco could feel the powerful magic surging through it. It made him shudder.

“Okay,” Draco nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” He looked back at Dobby. “Now, what do I do with it?” he asked him. Dobby was just looking at him blankly. Draco sighed. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll… think of something. Now off you go, Dobby, before Father notes your absence.”

“Thank you, Master Draco!” Dobby whispered, tears in his eyes again, and with a last plopping sound, he left, leaving Draco with the book in his hand and the dark magic emanating from it eating away at him. 


	4. Tom Riddle, the Heir of Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I know that most of you won't like where this chapter will take us, judging from all your previous comments, so I want to warn you ahead of reading. Please remember that Draco, as rational as he might pretend he is, is a 12-year-old boy whose brain goes blank whenever he panics. As much as he tries to act logical, his fears sometimes stop him, and I hope you will read it with exactly that knowledge in mind :) 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this new update! Please keep your comments coming, I love them more than I can express.

December came and passed in a bit of a blurry for Draco. He kept the evil diary in the chest Hagrid had given him the year prior to keep Nott’s hands off his things, hidden away from everyone who might be looking for it, afraid to take it out even for a moment. Draco swore he could feel the dark magic reaching for him whenever he opened the chest to take out clothes or books, and it made him shudder. He knew that eventually, he’d have to do something about it - if it was found in his possession, he would be the one to be blamed - but he was unsure of what exactly it was that he should do. If he marched up to a teacher to hand it over or report it, he would automatically be suspected, the same way Weasley had suspected him of hexing that Bludger. He could not let that happen. Harry and Hermione had trusted him up to now, but Draco didn’t know if their trust would reach this far, and he would do nothing to jeopardise the friendship with the only people who believed in him, apart from maybe his mother.

No, he would have to find a way to seal the Chamber on his own. But he had no idea how to go about it, and frankly, he was scared of being cursed in one way or another if he only as much as held the diary for too long. He would have to think up a strategy first, and throughout that process, he would just try his best to pretend that the damned thing was not rotting away hidden among his things.

One thing, Draco was sure of, though - there was no way he was going to spend Christmas at the Manor this year. As soon as Professor Snape hung out the list for students who wanted to stay home for Christmas, he signed up, giving his mother some feebly excuse about studying that he did not even expect her to believe, though she was kind enough to pretend she did. Harry, Hermione and Weasley were all staying, too, partly because of the Potion they had been secretly brewing in the haunted girl’s toilet on the second floor since Creevey’s attack - Draco had never met as depressing a ghost as Moaning Myrtle, and he was quite appalled every time they came across her, though at least it did not seem like she was going to tell anyone that they were breaking school rules right in the rooms she haunted, so he did his best to tolerate her - and Draco made an act of not wanting to leave the three of them to their own devices throughout the brewing process.

“I know you are perfectly capable, Hermione,” Draco drawled, as usually retreating to sarcasm whenever he felt panicked and overwhelmed. “But I don’t trust these two dunderheads. It will be better for you to have a rational mind at your side just in case.”

Weasley was spluttering angrily at his words, but Harry only glared at him halfheartedly and cut off the redheaded menace by asking: “I thought you said that whole plan was, what, ‘a stupid and unnecessary risk’?”

“Well, it is,” Draco insisted. “I’m still convinced Nott has nothing to do with it.” _Because my own father is to blame instead_ , a voice in his head reminded him helpfully, but he did his best to ignore it and keep a straight face. “But I’ve been friends with Gryffindors long enough to know when I’m fighting a lost battle, so I’m just going to hang around and make sure you don’t get yourself expelled.”

In reality, though, Draco was quite thankful for the distraction the potion provided for his friends. It kept their minds off him, and no one seemed to suspect that anything was wrong with him. He had watched the Weasley girl closely for the days after he had gotten his hands on the diary, and while she seemed distraught and worried both about the attack on Creevey and the loss of the diary, she had not confided in any of her brothers, it seemed, which was good. Maybe she’d be smart enough to keep quiet about it, and no one would ever have to know. Draco doubted she had made the complete connection between the diary and the Chamber of Secrets - he was pretty sure she would be in a much worse state if she had - but she would have to be abnormally naive to not have felt the dark magic emanating from the book. 

It was the last week of term when Lockhart, of all people, offered the additional distraction of a Duelling Club. Honestly, if Draco had known that Lockhart would be the one teaching it (the notice had not mentioned a teacher), he would not have gone - he had better things to do then letting Lockhart waste his time, and there was nothing that lunatic could teach him, anyways - but alas, here he was, looking up as Lockhart and Snape (now if that wasn’t a match made in hell) were stepping onto the stage and calling the students to attention. 

It started out tolerably entertaining. Lockhart and Snape demonstrated standard duelling poses - something Draco had asked his father to teach him when he was five so he could play with Crabbe and Goyle in proper etiquette - and Lockhart made a fool of himself by letting Snape disarm him as effortlessly as if the other teacher was a Squib like Filch.

Then, though, they started to team them up so they could practice in pair of twos, and of course, it was Snape who reached them first. With a sadistic pleasure, he paired Harry up with Nott, Weasley with Finnigan, Hermione with Millicent Bulstrode and Draco with Zabini. Draco did not really mind being paired with Zabini - out of the whole lot of Slytherins, the quiet boy was probably the least troublesome - but Draco knew that the combination of Nott and Harry meant trouble. 

It turned out he was right. Nott and Harry did hex each other for all they were worth, and Draco was actually glad that they had not yet been educated enough to do any real harm. To add firecrackers to the flames, though, Weasley’s broken wand had all but exploded and knocked Finnigan off his feet while simultaneously lacing the scene with greenish smoke that was emanating from the tip of it. Hermione and Bulstrode were bodily fighting not far from them, much to Draco’s surprise (not at Bulstrode’s display of violent aggression, he had known that girl for long enough - but he would not have tipped level-headed Hermione off for someone to engage her), and all around, people seemed to be spotting small to medium-sized injuries caused by what had been definitely more than disarming spells. Zabini, on the other hand, picked his wand up from the ground where it had fallen after Draco had hit him with his spell, looking quite bored. 

It was then that Lockhart decided to teach them blocking spells (bloody incompetent oaf that he was) and Snape, out of all people in the room, singled out Nott and Harry as a volunteer pair. The crowd gathered around the stage again and Draco watched with dawning apprehension as Lockhart gave Harry what was sure to be useless instructions in a hushed voice, while Snape and Nott were conspiring on the opposite end of the stage, nasty looks on their faces. 

“Harry would do us all a favor if he could just incapacitate Nott right there,” Weasley muttered, only for Hermione’s ears, but Draco still caught it from her other side. 

“Ron!” Hermione hissed. “We’re supposed to learn how to defend ourselves, not-”

“I know, I know!” Weasley grumbled. “I’m just saying it would be a lot easier than our original plan.”

“Because finishing someone off in front of a whole school of witnesses doesn’t draw any attention,” Draco drawled. “I see your masterminds ripens with time, Weasley, just like good elf wine.”

Weasley threw him a nasty look, but then, Lockhart counted down for Harry and Nott to start duelling, and their attention was drawn to the scene in front of them.

“Three - two - one - go!”

“ _Serpensortia!”_ Nott cried, and a long black snake shot out of the end of his wand, leaving Harry to stare at it blankly.

Draco rolled his eyes as the crowd backed away. So this was all they had to show for? An old conjured house emblem to hiss at Harry? He’d have expected more from Snape, to be honest.

But then Lockhart stopped Snape from banishing the snake, naturally failing in an attempt of his own and instead setting the enraged thing onto a Hufflepuff boy, and before Draco knew it, Harry was hissing at it. 

Draco stared, speechless and stunned, as Harry let out sinister rasping sounds that sounded much like he was a snake himself. People gasped and backed away further. Hermione grasped Draco’s arm, a hand flying to her mouth as she stared in shock.

“Parseltongue!” she breathed as, quite suddenly, the snake stilled and turned to look at Harry. It seemed to visibly deflate, and Harry looked relieved for about five seconds until he met the Hufflepuff’s eyes. 

“What do you think you’re playing at?” the boy shouted, and Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly, eyes wide, as he stormed out of the hall. 

Weasley was already moving when Draco started to feel his limbs again - he was dragging Harry out of the Great Hall, and Hermione followed, pulling at Draco’s arm to urge him along.

They ran up all the way to the second floor bathroom, where their cauldron was bubbling peacefully in one of the stalls. Only when the door fell closed behind them did Weasley round up on Harry.

“You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m a what?” asked Harry, puzzled.

“ _A Parselmouth!_ ” Weasley repeated impatiently. “You can talk to snakes!”

“I know,” said Harry, still looking puzzled as he launched into a story of how he had set some snake lose on his cousin once, and Draco just stared at Harry, feeling cold all over. He did not listen to Hermione and Weasley’s attempts of explaining that his gift was not quite as common as Harry had assumed and the implications of it, his head spinning with his own panic.

This could not be happening. All suspicion would fall on Harry now - Draco’s best friend, of all people in the whole school - when really, it was his father who had started the whole thing! He could not let that happen! He had to stop this before Harry got into too much trouble! He was the only one who _could_ , after all! But how was he going to clear any suspicion of Harry being the heir of Slytherin (ridiculous as it was for any real Slytherin to even think about), without getting himself accused in return?!

“But I’m not,” Harry insisted, an edge of panic in his voice. 

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” Hermione said. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”

“He couldn’t,” Draco cut in, his voice rough. “You underestimate us purebloods, Hermione. We’ve documented our ancestry for thousands of years, and you can follow the last offshoots of the Slytherin family right to where they died out! There is no connection to the Potter family at all! We’d know if there was!”

“Purebloods might believe that,” Hermione shrugged him off. “But they don’t make up the majority of this school, Draco. The rest of us can’t help but see that someone with a link to Slytherin has got to be among us, whether this link is documented or not! And with Harry being a Parseltongue…”

“Harry’s a Gryffindor!” Draco insisted. “No one in their right minds would-”

“People are scared, Draco!” Hermione reminded him. “They are _not_ in their right minds.”

Draco took a shaky breath, knowing that she was right. He shot a look at Harry, and at the pure fear in his face, he made his decision: He needed to use the diary in his possession to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Then he could seal it, or if he was unable to, he could at least hand all the information he had over to Dumbledore as a gesture of good faith that might save him from suspicion. He was aware that it would be dangerous, that it was actually a lunatic thing to try to achieve on his own, but he had no choice.

If it was to save Harry, he would do it.

  


Draco opened the chest the moment he made it up to the dormitory that night. It was thankfully deserted - most of his classmates were still in the common room, discussing the events of the Duelling Club. Draco had not even held in the find out what it was they were saying about Harry, too focused on the mission he had set himself. Now, he was kneeling on the floor next to his bed, staring at the leather-bound diary lying at the bottom of the chest with rising apprehension. It felt like the invisible tangles of the dark magic were reaching for him, and he wanted to jerk backwards, throw the lid onto the chest and never open it again.

Instead, he reached out to close his hand around the diary.

His fingernails dug into the leather as he made his way towards his bed. He crawled onto it and closed the curtains around himself, eager not to be disturbed. Then he dropped the diary onto the mattress, and with a deep breath, he flipped it open. 

It was completely empty. The pages within had yellowed with age, apart from the name _T. M. Riddle_ on the first page. Draco had never given much thought to the Dark Lord’s real name, but if he had, he would have expected a well-known pureblood family name, something that Draco would recognize. Riddle sounded so… normal. _Muggle_.

Draco shook the thought off as he stared at the diary.

“Now what exactly do I do with you?” he muttered to himself.

_Well_ , a voice in his head said, one that sounded sharp like his father’s. _People usually write into diaries, you dim-witted brat._

With a sigh, he got up to fetch a quill and ink before settling back into his former position. He opened the bottle of ink and tipped his quill into it, hesitating for a moment before setting the tip to the empty second page. ‘September 2nd’, it read. 

‘Where is the Chamber of Secrets?’ Draco wrote, feeling immensely silly, but not for long - almost as soon as he had finished writing, the ink seemed to sink into the pages, vanishing before his eyes. Draco gaped as new words shaped themselves from it, but the script was different, unlike his own - less tidy, but the shape of the letters more squiggled. 

_Hello. May I ask who you are?_

Draco’s lips tightened at the question, and the words disappeared again. He set the quill down to answer.

‘That’s of no interest to you. I asked you a question.’ Again, the words disappeared and reformed.

_You are wrong, it is of great interest to me, since you are obviously not Ginny Weasley. I am curious by nature, you see. But nevermind, if you don’t want to answer me, that's fine. May I ask how you came into the possession of my diary?_

Frustration began to build within Draco. He should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy.

‘I know what you did to Ginny,’ he wrote. ‘You made her open the Chamber for you, so you could attack the caretaker’s cat and that Gryffindor First Year. I’m not going to let you make me one of your chess pieces, too.’

_Are you a defender of the Muggleborns, then? Is it your intention to stop me?_

Draco glared at the page as the words disappeared, before scribbling down: ‘You bet!’ His quill dug into the page a little too harshly, but the paper did not break. 

The diary took a while to form new words this time, but when they appeared, Draco dropped his quill in shock.

_You have a lot of nerve, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Much more than I expected, knowing your family._ Drops of ink from the quill Draco had dropped spilled into the page as the words disappeared again, new ones forming. _You want to know how I know your name? This not a normal diary, you know. It can do a lot of things a twelve-year-old boy like you cannot even begin to understand._

Draco’s hands were shaking. His breathing came out in harsh gasps. Instinctively, he tried to reign in his emotions and close down his mind from outer access. 

_Are you scared? You’re right to be, you know._

Draco gulped, before finally, he picked up the quill again.

‘I’m going to hand this diary over to the authorities,’ he wrote.

_We both know you’re not going to do that,_ came the answer.

‘Are we?’ Draco asked, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

_Yes. You would have handed it over right away if that was your intention. But you are scared of being associated with these attacks. Ginny has told me about you, you know._

Draco wrung his hands, before scrabbling: ‘Oh? What has she told you?’

This time, the text that appeared was longer, a whole paragraph of writing that was not his own, nor the Dark Lord’s. Draco realized upon reading that it was Ginny’s.

_Ron says Harry and Hermione trust Draco Malfoy, but he doesn’t. Dad has talked about his father a lot at home, and we met him at Diagon Alley, too. He was arrogant and mean. Draco seems arrogant, too, in some ways, but he obviously doesn’t like his father very much. I’m not sure what to think. I just hope Harry knows what he’s doing. I don’t want him to get hurt by associating with a family of Death Eaters._

Draco’s eyes stung as he read the words, and he blinked, trying desperately to close down his emotions once more. 

_You won’t hand this diary over to anyone,_ the Dark Lord wrote, now in his own script again. _Because everyone will be thinking you’ve been helping your father with his scheme._

With trembling fingers, Draco picked up the diary and slammed it shut. He was breathing hard, blinking back tears. 

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, under his breath. “What am I going to do?”

  


Draco did not sleep that night, consumed by the fear gnawing at him all through the night and the next day. He avoided the other three between classes and kept to himself, thinking and thinking about what to do with the diary.

He should really hand it in, he thought. What the Dark Lord had written had been, much to Draco’s utter frustration, completely right - Draco _was_ only twelve years old, and he was hopelessly under-equipped for a situation like this. He should just get rid of the thing before it got a hold of him the way it had of Ginny, and he became involved to the point of no return. 

He did not pay attention in Transfiguration, instead staring at Professor McGonagall absently, feeling like he was going to be sick. What would the Head of Gryffindor say if he told her he was in the possession of the Dark Lord’s evil diary, and that his father had handed it to Ginny Weasley so she would inadvertently open the Chamber of Secrets? McGonagall, though strict, had always been kind to him, but would she believe he had nothing to do with his father’s scheme? 

The Professor seemed to notice Draco’s staring, though, because her blue eyes lingered on him a couple of times, and when the door rang and all the Slytherins started packing in and filing out of the classroom, she walked over to his table, frowning down at him.

“Mr Malfoy,” she said. “Is there anything on your mind.”

Draco gulped. It was now or never, he thought. He opened his mouth, trying to decide where to start, -

And then, everything went blank.

  


When Draco came to himself again, he was inexplicably soaked with water and freezing cold. He looked around, perplexed. He was standing in the middle of the second floor corridor, not far from where the first attack had happened, and he had no idea how he had got there. 

He was not alone, though. Students were walking up and down the corridor alongside him, and they were chatting excitedly, a nervous edge to their voice. They were so agitated none of them took note of Draco’s state.

“What was that Hufflepuff’s name?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley. He is the one Potter tried to chase the snake onto yesterday at Duelling Club.”

“So now he got him?”

“Well, he was found at the scene of the crime! How much proof do you need, Sophie?”

“How is the boy?”

“Petrified, like the others. So is Headless Nick. It’s scary, isn’t it? That whatever Potter is doing can affect even ghosts…”

“No one is safe!”

Draco couldn’t breathe. He didn’t tell his feet to move, but he was running all the way back to the Slytherin quarters. Their dormitory was deserted, it being the middle of the day - at least, Draco _thought_ it was the middle of the day - and he sank to the floor as soon as he had thrown the door closed behind himself, his whole body shaking in what he knew was a panic attack. 

_It was me_ , he thought desperately. _I attacked Finch-Fletchley, and everyone thinks it was Harry! What am I going to_ do?!

Blurrily, he directed his eyes to the chest on the side of his bed, where he knew the diary was still stored. Draco imagined he could feel the feelers of the dark magic reach him even here, across the room, the same way it had reached him across the school, closing around his wrists in a grasp that Draco could not escape. 

He let out a broken sob and buried his face in his knees. 


	5. Don't Let Them Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with the next update! This chapter is, admittedly, slow and uneventful in terms of plot, but it's still very important for the story and for Draco's character, so I hope you will find it interesting despite the lack of real action.
> 
> Kudos to everyone who's staying with me throughout this story, despite it maybe taking a path you didn't want it to take :) And thanks a lot to everyone who encouraged me in what I chose to happen - your comments have been warming like Hermione's blue flames in the cold that is my current real-life stress. I love you all!!

By some stroke of luck, Harry did not get expelled for the attacks on Finch-Fletchley and the Gryffindor ghost. Draco thanked Merlin and Godric (no thanks to Salazar) that Dumbledore seemed to have an unshakeable faith in Harry - not, of course, that he’d have let the headmaster go through with an actual expulsion. If it had really come this far, Draco would have stepped in and turned himself over. He had actually been adamant on doing it the night after the attacks, but then he had heard from Harry that Dumbledore, unlike the rest of the school, did not seem to doubt him in the slightest and his decision had crumbled.

If Harry was in no immediate danger, that gave him more time to figure out a way to solve this, Draco figured. He just had to find a different approach to get information, because he was not going to touch the diary again for his life. He was sure that the way the diary possessed people was for them to write in it, so Draco would not do it again, and, just to be safe, he kept his mind closed off at all times. And when for the next couple of days, he had no lags of consciousness and no more attacks happened, he started to feel a little easier. I was mainly when he was alone and not busy that the clingy feeling of guilt was too persistent to ignore. So he tried to keep his head in books and away from the problem at hand, though it was not working half as well as he wished it would. It felt a little like he was held at wand point at all times, and Draco had never been good at dealing with any kind of pressure.

Hermione noticed, and so did Harry, after a while, but thankfully, they assumed Draco’s worry lay with Harry’s position more than with his own.

“We’ll have the potion done by Christmas,” Hermione told him soothingly one afternoon over their Charms homework. “And then we’ll be one step closer to knowing what is going on, I’m sure.”

Draco just nodded mutely, afraid of saying anything, sure that Weasley could construct any word of his into an admission of guilt. And this time, Draco could not even blame him, for he would be a hundred percent right.

Christmas approached, and so did the completion of the polyjuice potion. Hermione - quite unsurprisingly the mastermind of that operation - informed them on Christmas Eve that the potion was done, and that they would act that very same night. Nott, Crabbe and Goyle had all stayed over the Christmas Holidays, and though Millicent Bulstrode, who Hermione had nicked some hair from during their very physical fight at the Duelling Club, had headed home, she was sure she could act it off by pretending to have changed her mind. Harry and Weasley, who were to assume the bodies of Crabbe and Goyle, were carefully instructed to trick the two oafs into eating cupcakes spiked with Sleeping Draught. Draco was thankful that his only job was to let the three of them into the Slytherin quarters, and he did not bother wasting energy on pointing out the loopholes and dangers within their plot. He could always step in before they got themselves into any real trouble, and as long as they weren't focusing too closely on Draco, he was glad to let them proceed.

So Draco lurked around the dungeons after dinner, dodging his housemates and waiting for the Gryffindors-in-disguise to turn up. When they did, it was slightly after their appointed time, and Hermione was missing.

“What-” Draco began, but Goyle cut him off with a determination that was very strange to see on the usually empty face of his housemate. 

“No time to explain, let’s just go!” 

Harry then, Draco decided, and he nodded before turning to the stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin quarters. 

“ _Pureblood_ ,” he announced, and the wall slid aside for them to enter. “You’d better go ahead,” Draco said, turning to the other two. “It would be bad if Nott saw us together. I’ll follow in a minute or two.”

“Thanks,” Goyle - _Harry_ \- muttered and clapped him on the shoulder before slipping past Draco. Crabbe / Weasley just nodded and followed him. When they were gone, Draco stepped back, allowing the door to close again. He barely had a moment to breathe before a voice called from down the corridor: “Oh, look who it is. Malfoy the blood traitor.”

Draco schooled his features into boredom, despite the way his heartbeat picked up - that had been _close_ \- and turned to face Nott, who was approaching him with a smirk. 

“Your insults are uncreative as always, Nott,” Draco drawled. “Why don’t you read a book for a change, to enhance your vocabulary?”

“Careful, Malfoy,” Nott hissed. “Or I might tip off the Heir of Slytherin to put you on his list.” 

“Good luck with that,” Draco muttered and turned back to the door. “ _Pureblood_ ,” he announced, and the door opened again, allowing Draco to enter without another word to Nott.

He tried to ignore the way Crabbe and Goyle stood in the middle of the common room, looking slightly lost, and instead headed straight for the dormitories. Behind him, he heard Nott call: “There you are! I was looking for you!”

Their dormitory was blissfully empty as he let the door fall closed behind him, granting him a very welcome solitude. Hermione had originally asked him to linger in the common room while they were around - in case there were any emergencies - but Draco had quickly explained to her that him spending time in the common room, if anything, would look unnecessarily suspicious. Instead, he had agreed to drop in when their hour was to be up and pick up a quill, which he had purposefully dropped under a chair, as a warning for them to get going. Draco checked the clock across the room. He still had about half an hour left till then. 

Automatically, his eyes fell on the chest where he knew the diary lay hidden. It felt strange, having Harry and Weasley so close to it. He knew that there was no possible way they would come across it - no one but him could open the chest, after all, and they had no reason to search his things in the first place - but the mere knowledge that they were outside and the object that could incriminate him was in here made him feel restless and twitchy. So he sat down on the bed, pulled out _A History of Magic_ and started reading the chapter on the International Warlock Convention in 1289. He was halfway through it before it was time for him to do his bit as the stationary Slytherin of his friends’ futile spy mission. 

With a sigh, he got to his feet and made his way back into the common room. What seemed to be their usual trio of bullies was sitting at their usual spot near the fire, Nott talking with an air of importance and the other two hanging onto every word he said. It almost looked like it always did. 

Nott held in as his eyes fell onto Draco, a smile spreading across his face.

“We were just talking about you, Malfoy!” Nott called out. “You and your pal Potter and how anyone could actually be stupid enough to think that he’s the heir of Slytherin! As if anyone _you_ associated with had any kind of Slytherin pride!” Nott threw his head back and laughed derisively. Draco just rolled his eyes and caught Goyle’s - Harry’s - gaze. He nodded once, shortly, and Draco bent down to pick up the quill from where he had left it earlier that day.

“Fuck off, Nott,” was all Draco returned before he turned on his heels and walked back to the dormitory.

He received a letter through Hedwig later that night, informing him that Nott, just as he had predicted, was not the heir of Slytherin, and that Hermione was in the hospital wing after having inserted the hair of Millicent’s cat into her Polyjuice Potion. Draco sighed as he read it and absentmindedly stroked Hedwig’s feathers. 

“Now what am _I_ going to do about that dark artefact in my possession?” Draco muttered, more to himself than to her. Hedwig just tipped her head and hooted once, as if in consolation.

  


Hermione was kept in the hospital wing for several weeks. It turned out that animal transformations by the means of polyjuice potion were harder to rectify than Draco had first assumed - though, to Madam Pomfrey’s credit, they’d never told her what _exactly_ had caused Hermione’s features to turn feline, fully aware that their rule-breaking would be revealed if they did. The other three spent a lot of time in the infirmary with her, both to keep her company and to bring her class notes, though more often than not Draco found himself alone at her bedside, quietly retelling detailed explanations from class or doing homework with her. He did it mainly because he preferred the silence of the infirmary to the noise of the Slytherin quarters, but he could tell that Hermione was grateful for his presence, since she never urged him to leave.

More than once, though, Draco found himself scrutinized by her far-too-perceptive eyes, until one afternoon, she muttered: “Maybe you should call it a night, Draco. You don’t look well.”

Draco frowned at her. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, marking the paragraph he was reading and closing the book to turn his attention to her.

Hermione bit her lip, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether or not to actually voice what was on her mind, before continuing: “You’ve been looking tired lately. As if you’re not getting enough rest. It’s not because you’re down here so much, is it?”

Draco raised his eyebrows at that.

“Honestly, Hermione,” he drawled. “What difference does it make if I study here or in my dormitory? Apart from the much more pleasant company, that is.”

Hermione smiled softly at that, but was not to be deterred from her line of questioning by Draco’s subtle flattery.

“What is it, then? Are you not sleeping well?”

Draco sighed, his fingers idly stroking over the cover of the charms book that was lying in his lap. He was very aware that he was walking on thin ice with a friend like Hermione around, and chose his words extra carefully, making sure not to give her any information to work out the truth with. 

“I’m worried,” he said finally. “About the Chamber, and Harry, and you.” It was the easiest answer, and when Hermione nodded in understanding, he knew it had been the right one. 

“Of course you are,” she muttered. “We're all worried. I really hoped we could get some information from Nott.” She held in for a moment, before pressing: “You _really_ don’t have any inkling of who might be involved, Draco? I mean, it’s your house that must hold the Heir, after all.”

“I told you, I’m not exactly included in any social circles with my housemates,” he reminded her tiredly. “If you want someone who’s caught up on gossip, I’d suggest Parkinson. The woman is a nightmare, but always well-informed.” 

Hermione made a face. 

“Imagine me approaching Pansy Parkinson and interviewing her on the Heir of Slytherin.”

“It would be a sight, you have to admit,” Draco shrugged, cracking a smile at her. She laughed, much to Draco's relief, and he slipped his charms book into his bag, getting to his feet. “But maybe you’re right,” he concluded. “I _am_ rather exhausted. I’ll probably turn in early after dinner.”

“Do that,” she agreed, smiling encouragingly at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you,” Draco waved and made his way out of the hospital wing. As soon as the door fell closed behind him, his smile fell from his face, as if he could not keep it up without the eyes of other people to prompt it. 

Draco was aware that he should be making some effort to discover any kind of information about the Chamber of Secrets so that he could find a way to hand the diary over without incriminating himself further, but… It had been quiet since the attack on Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, hadn’t it? The last time he had tried to poke, it had ended in disaster, and he was scared that, if he made any further steps, he would end up being possessed once more and attack another student. 

And at present, no one but Dobby knew that the diary was in his possession. As long as everyone remained blissfully unaware and nothing further happened, was there really any need for him to act?

Draco knew how cowardly that train of thoughts was. His friends would be disgusted with him, he was sure, and the little voices inside Draco’s head sounded a lot like them: It was Weasley’s voice that accused him of being evil and just like his father; Hermione’s that told him that he could not keep this a secret forever; but it was Harry’s voice that got to him the most - the one that told him that what he was doing was plainly _wrong_ and that he should be handing himself over to the authorities before he did any more damage. 

But Draco’s sense for survival was too strong to do that. Maybe he truly was no better than his father, after all.

  


The next couple of weeks passed strangely fast. Hermione was released from the hospital wing at the end of January. February was blessedly uneventful, if one did not count Valentine’s Day, which included a sick plot of Lockhart's to hunt his students down with violent, ugly cherubs, and a plainly embarrassing musical Valentine’s message from Ginny Weasley to Harry, which they were firmly instructed to never mention again. Draco had managed to suppress the feeling of guilt and panic that he carried with him constantly these days rather successfully, he felt, since not even Hermione seemed to find anything odd in his behaviour anymore. The more time passed, the more the rumours about Harry quietened down as well. In fact, everything should have been perfect - or, as perfect as it could get, with the knowledge that you had attacked an innocent classmate. 

It was when Professor Sprout announced that the Mandrakes had thrown a party at Greenhouse Three towards the end of March, suggesting that they had now officially entered puberty, that Draco’s nerves crashed down on him again. If the Mandrakes would reach maturity soon, that meant the means to wake the victims from their petrification would be available as well, and Draco had no idea how exactly he had attacked Finch-Fletchley. What if the boy had seen him and was able to identify him the moment he woke up? Draco could not let that happen. He had to approach the teachers with _some_ kind of information before he woke, and he was not going to get it by stalling the matter any longer.

He had been thinking and thinking, but the more he pondered the matter, the clearer it became that his only source of information was indeed the diary. And the only way to actually extract information from it was to write in it. Maybe, Draco figured, now that he knew what to expect, he could somehow keep the Dark Lord out of his head even while he was communicating with him. Draco had learned Occlumency early, after all, and really, how could this be any different?

So one night, after he had run circles inside his head for one too many times, he opened the chest, hesitantly drew out the dark leather-bound notebook and settled on his bed, curtains drawn. 

His hands were shaking when he opened the diary to a random page and picked up his quill, dipping it into the ink. He stared at the empty page for a moment, before setting the quill down to write, with a determination he did not feel.

‘Tell me where the Chamber of Secrets is.’

Draco waited as the ink sank into the page, and then reappeared in the Dark Lord’s script, just as it had the last time.

_Draco! I knew you would come back eventually._

Draco narrowed his eyes, then took a deep breath, carefully emptying his mind from any emotions before continuing.

‘Tell me.’

_Why? You don’t need to know its location to finish the noble work of Salazar Slytherin for me, as you very well know._

Draco took another deep breath, imagining a cupboard inside his mind, and sorting all his emotions carefully into it, before closing the door and locking it. The same way his mother had taught him to at young age. He still found that mental bridge useful whenever he felt overwhelmed and couldn't bring up the walls he knew he was able to construct. 

‘I’m not going to finish your work. I'm going to find out where the Chamber is, and then I will go to Dumbledore and hand this diary over.’

It took a few moments this time until the answer came.

_Why are you so determined to stop me?_

Draco blinked, the question surprising him.

‘Because what you are doing is wrong,’ he wrote.

_Your father never thought so, did he?_

‘I’m not like my father!’

_Yes. You have more backbone than him. But you haven’t answered my question, not really. Why do you think what your parents taught you was wrong?_

Draco took a moment to sort his thoughts, thinking earnestly about his answer before giving it.

‘My friends are Muggleborn and Half-blood, and I don’t believe that they are any less worthy of studying magic than I am.’ In an afterthought, he added: ‘I’m not going to sit by and watch you hurt them.’

_Are these the same friends that you think won’t even believe in your innocence when tested?_ , came the answer, and it hit Draco right in the stomach. _Are friends who don’t believe in you really worth turning your back on a family as noble as yours?_

‘You’re wrong about them!’ Draco scribbled angrily. ‘They would believe me. Harry and Hermione always believed in me! It’s the rest of the world that would doubt me.’

_Are you so sure about that?_

Draco’s quill hovered above the paper. He wanted to write ‘Yes,” with all his might, but somehow, he could not bring himself to.

When his answer did not come, the Dark Lord wrote: _Poor boy. You think you made a decision, but in truth, you have always been following others, desperate for recognition and love. First, it was your father, and now, Harry Potter twisted your mind with his talk of right and wrong, good and bad, and you’re trying so hard to fit yourself into that shape he drew out for you. Doesn’t it get tiring, always chasing after people that never see you for who you really are?_

Draco’s heart was hammering, and he slammed the diary shut.

“It’s not true,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t let him get to you. He just wants you to lose your head.” 

But his words did not slow his racing heartbeat, nor did it chase away the vine of pain that seemed to have settled over his chest, squeezing down and making it hard for him to breathe.

  


Draco would have had enough to think about over the Easter Holidays without his worries about the diary, but as it happened, he found himself unable to concentrate neither on his studies nor on the decision which electives to choose for his third year at Hogwarts. 

Hermione kept going on and on about how important the decision was, and it made Draco’s head spin just listening to her. He tried instead to get his orientation from Harry, but whenever he asked for his opinion, he only quoted whatever any member of the Weasley family had told him. When he ended up choosing the same subjects as his red-headed nuisance - Divination and Care of Magical Creatures - Draco felt torn. 

“I never set much store on Divination,” he told Hermione dully one afternoon at the library. “And I’m not all that good with animals either. Other than owls, that is.”

“Well, you don’t need to take the same subjects as Harry and Ron,” she frowned. 

Draco bit his lip, hesitating before admitting, very quietly: “But I’d like to have more classes with you three. It would be nice to not always sit alone in the corner, you know.” He was not looking at Hermione when he said it, but met her eyes when she touched his arm gently, a sad smile on her lips.

“I’d like that, too,” she nodded. “But you shouldn’t make academic decisions based on the fear of being alone.”

“I know,” Draco sighed.

“Which subjects would you like to take, then?” she asked. “Is there anything you’re particularly interested in?”

“Well,” Draco began, gnawing on his lower lip. “I told you that I love Alchemy, and a lot of texts on the subject are written in runes. I know to read them a little, but it’s mostly self-taught, and I’d like to learn it properly. Also, Arithmancy fascinates me.”

“Both sound extremely interesting,” Hermione agreed in a gushing tone. “I really want to take them, too, but it would also be interesting to learn about Magical Creatures, especially for someone like me, who has no experience with even the most common ones. Divination is just a completely different branch of magic that I’d like to know more about. And Muggle Studies-”

“You grew up in a Muggle family, Hermione,” Draco reminded her, laughing. “Why would you take it up at Hogwarts?!”

“Well,” Hermione muttered, flushing. “It would be interesting to study it from Wizarding perspective!”

“You are incredible,” he shook his head. “We’re supposed to choose three subjects maximum, you know!”

“I talked to Professor McGonagall yesterday,” she shrugged. “And she said if I wanted to take more, we could find a way to make it work.”

“Really?,” Draco asked, thinking. “So that means I could take up Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Ancient Runes _and_ Arithmancy?”

“I think so,” Hermione nodded. “I mean, it would be stressful, but-”

“I spend most of my free time studying as it is,” Draco shrugged. “I think I can handle it.”

“Well, do it then!” Hermione encouraged, sounding pleased. “It will be nice, having you in most of my classes. At least you don’t make fun of me for actually being interested in what we’re learning,” she concluded, an edge to her voice that suggested there had been one too many careless comments from Weasley’s side recently. “Oh, Harry!” she perked up, and Draco raised his head to see Harry approaching their table, still in his Quidditch attire. “How was training?”

“Good,” Harry smiled, sitting down opposite them. “I’m sure we’ll beat Hufflepuff in a couple of weeks! The team is in good form!” Draco forced a smile, the idea of Quidditch seeming strange and surreal with all the worrying he had been doing recently, despite knowing that the last match of the season against Ravenclaw was coming up for him, too. “Where is Ron?” Harry asked, looking at Hermione questioningly.

“In the common room,” Hermione said, her tone slightly stiff. “He felt like there was no need to start on homework until I assume a day before the holidays end.”

“Er, right,” Harry nodded, grinning. “How about I’ll go up and change, pick him up, and we go out to the lake? The weather is nice, and we can still work down there, if you want?”

“That sounds good!” Hermione smiled, looking at Draco questioningly when he made a face. 

“I’ll stay here,” Draco muttered. “It’s cold.”

He felt Harry’s eyes on him, but did not look up to meet them.

“I don’t have to ask Ron to come,” he said, at last. “We could just go as the three of us.”

“I just don’t feel like going out,” Draco protested. “It’s got nothing to do with Weasley.”

“Listen, I know the two of you haven’t exactly been friendly ever since the whole Quidditch thing,” Harry sighed. “But we’ve hung out without him before, and I don’t see why we can’t anymore! You’ve been withdrawing yourself lately, and I don’t like it!”

When Draco looked up at those words, Harry’s green eyes were defiant. Draco could barely stand to look at him without hating himself. 

“I’m not withdrawing myself,” Draco murmured.

“Oh, come on, I’m not stupid!” Harry grumbled. “Whenever you’re with us, you look pale and tired, and you barely say a word. You don’t really search us out anymore. If anything, you spend time alone with Hermione in the library. You’re _my_ friend, too, you know!”

“Of course I am,” Draco said immediately. “I’m not avoiding you!”

“‘Avoiding’ might be too strong a word,” Harry agreed. “But I know something is wrong! Hermione said it might be Ron’s fault.”

Draco threw a look at Hermione, who was proof-reading her charms essay diligently, apparently unaware of their conversation. It was true that Draco had felt uncomfortable in their presence, but it had less to do with Weasley and his low opinion of Draco - though it played a part, if he was quite honest - and more with his own guilt and desperation. Hermione, despite being so smart and perceptive, was easier to be around.

Harry was a different matter altogether. Every time he looked at the other boy, he felt like he did not deserve to be around someone so inherently _good_. Like his hands were too dirty to touch something pure. He had _tried,_ though, aware that Harry would know something was wrong if he just disappeared from his sight. And he thought he had become good at pretending, but maybe, he had just underestimated Harry.

“Draco, listen,” Harry said, drawing Draco’s eyes back to him. “Whatever it is that’s wrong, you can talk to us, okay?” He looked so earnest that Draco felt even worse about himself.

“Nothing is wrong,” he found himself saying. Harry’s eyebrows drew together in obvious doubt. “Things have just been stressful, is all.”

“Has Nott been an arse to you?” Harry asked, his jaw tensing.

“No,” Draco said immediately. “I mean, not more than usual. Just, the whole thing with the Chamber, and-”

“But there hasn’t been an attack in months,” Harry pointed out. “Things are calming down. Still, you seem to be getting worse.”

Draco had no ready answer to that. He just shrugged. Harry’s eyes were burning into him.

“I think what Harry’s trying to say,” Hermione spoke up, at last, looking up from her essay. “Is that it’s better to talk to us if you’re worried, instead of keeping it all to yourself. It’s not doing you any good. Just - if you want someone to listen, we’ll be there, okay?”

“I know,” he nodded, trying to smile. Harry was still looking at him wearily, but he seemed resolved to let the subject drop, for now. With a sigh, Draco rolled up his parchment and corked up his bottle of ink. “But if we’re going out, I need to get my coat,” he noted. “It really _is_ cold.”

Harry chuckled. 

“Do that. I will meet you in the entrance hall in fifteen.”

When Draco caught up with them again after a trip to the dungeons, Harry had indeed left Weasley behind. Under normal circumstances, he’d have felt treasured by that. Now, he just felt worse.

  


‘Tell me where the Chamber is,’ Draco scribbled onto the empty page that very same night, goaded by his guilt. ‘No more games.’ The ink sank into the page, and formed new words immediately.

_Maybe I like games? I’m a memory, Draco. Time isn’t as much of a matter for me as it is for you. I’m prepared to wait you out._

‘I’ll end up going to Dumbledore whether you tell me anything or not,’ Draco threatened, though he knew, deep down, that it was no use. ‘You might as well not make it worse for either of us.’

_You don’t even believe that yourself, Draco. You’re not going to tell anyone. Not unless you find a way to prove your own innocence. And do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hand that to you?_

When Draco slammed the diary shut again, his eyes were prickling with tears he desperately tried to fight down.


	6. Something Stronger Than Hate and Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the second last chapter of this instalment, and therefore the climax of this story. I apologise for the abruptness with which the events turn this time, but, given the POV I have chosen, I had little choice. I hope it's not too anticlimactic. 
> 
> As always, please let me hear your thoughts! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you! :)

The morning of the Quidditch match Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff was weirdly blurry for Draco. He had woken up feeling like his mind was on standby. He could remember going down for breakfast, but not having arrived there.

The next thing he knew, Draco found himself on his way to the Quidditch pitch. He held in, drowsy and disoriented, taking a look around. He was alone on the path out to the field, and he could hear loud voices from the stands, but no players were yet up in the air. Draco frowned, trying to remember why he was out here alone and why he hadn’t gone down to the match with Hermione and Weasley. Then, he suddenly spotted three people hurrying up the path, moving in his direction. It took him a moment to recognize them for who they were: Professor McGonagall was hurrying ahead of the little group, looking tense and distraught. Behind her, two Gryffindor students were following, one in normal school robes and one in Quidditch gear. Draco froze, staring at Harry and Weasley uncomprehendingly. Behind them, more and more students were making their way back to the castle, but Draco paid them no mind.

“Mr Malfoy!” Professor McGonagall’s voice broke through his daze, and Draco looked up to meet his teacher’s serene expression. “Good that you’re here, you’d better come along, too.”

“Come where?” Draco asked in confusion, but she just shook her head and pushed on. Harry caught his eyes, and his expression showed an equal lack of comprehension, along with fear. Silently, Draco fell into step with them, hurrying after McGonagall.

“What’s going on?” he whispered to Harry. “Has the match been cancelled?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed, staring worriedly at McGonagall’s back as if the explanation for this turn of events was sewn into the back of her robes. 

“Where were you?!” Weasley demanded when Harry said no more. “Hermione ran off to the library, and you don’t turn up, either… What have the two of you been up to?!”

“I…” Draco began, but broke off, frowning. He tried hard to remember, but he came up with nothing, and his panic rose with every passing second. The last time he had not been able to remember what he had been doing mere minutes beforehand, he had attacked Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick.

He was saved from answering, though, as they entered the castle, and soon, they found themselves in front of the hospital wing. 

“This will be a bit of a shock,” McGonagall told them, in a voice so gentle that it made Draco’s blood freeze in his veins. “There has been another attack… Another _double_ attack.”

Draco could not breathe as she pushed open the door, revealing Madam Pomfrey, who was tending to two rigid figures on adjacent beds: One was an older Ravenclaw girl with long, curly hair that Draco did not know. The other one was Hermione.

He knew that Professor McGonagall was talking, but he could not hear a thing. All that registered in his mind was white noise.

  


Snape came down to their common room that night to announce the newly instated rules following the attacks on Hermione and the other girl, whose name was Penelope Clearwater. The new curfew for all students had been moved up to 6 p.m., and no one was to leave their common room after that time. The teachers were to escort each class to their classrooms, as well as the bathroom and the Great Hall. All club activities had been put on hold. Snape also fixed them with sharp eyes as he demanded that any student with information on the attacks should come forward, for if the culprit wasn’t caught soon, the school would have to be closed.

The mood among the Slytherins following those announcements was a lot duller than it had been past the previous attacks. It was obvious that the threat of closing Hogwarts alerted them to the seriousness of the situation. They sat in groups after Snape had left, whispering amongst each other. 

Draco made his way back to the dormitory in a daze. Thankfully, it was deserted, and no one was there to taunt him as he let himself fall onto the mattress, staring into empty space.

He had attacked Hermione, one of the two true friends he had. Hermione, who had spent the last couple of months worrying about him, not once suspecting that she had any danger to expect of him. Draco’s eyes stung.

Weasley had been right. He was _exactly_ as bad as his father. No. He was _worse_ , for he had never even owned up to what he was, convinced that he was worthy of being friends with someone like Harry and Hermione, and determined on choosing the opposite side. And yet, here he was, keeping vital information from the teaching staff to save his own skin, and attacking his friends instead of just acting. 

He pulled his knees up on the mattress and pressed his face to them, stifling the desperate sobs that tore from his mouth.

  


The next day, the news that Dumbledore had been suspended as Headmaster, and that Hagrid had been taken to Azkaban travelled the school. Draco did not understand how anyone could suspect Hagrid. Hagrid was as far from the Heir of Slytherin as one could be, with what he was pretty sure was giant blood of some degree in his veins and his kind, cheerful character. People were whispering about him having been involved in the first set of attacks fifty years ago, leading to his expulsion as a student, and now, so they mused, he had decided to continue the work he had left off back then - but Draco did not listen to any of it, knowing first-hand that it was not true. The Dark Lord had opened the Chamber fifty years ago - having framed Hagrid, for all Draco could guess, or maybe he had used him just like he was now using Draco. Draco wished he had known of Hagrid's past involvement earlier, so he could have approached the man about it. Maybe together, they could have figured it out. Now, though, it was too late to think about it.

Draco knew that he had no choice but to tell someone. Hagrid was innocent, and he could not let him remain in Azkaban when really, Draco was the one who should be there. But who to tell? Dumbledore was gone. Draco had clung to the hope that the influential Headmaster would understand, and would believe his words as one of Harry’s friends. But now, that was not an option anymore. Of course, he could approach McGonagall, who had been installed as temporary Headmistress, and who he had tried to approach shortly before his attack on Finch-Fletchley. But would the Head of Gryffindor House be invested enough to save him from possible incarceration, or would her word even hold enough power to do so?

Draco tried to linger after various Transfigurations lessons, working up the courage to ask her for a private audience, but she was always brisk about leading them towards their next class, and every time, Draco lost his nerves.

Draco had not spoken more than a couple of words to Harry since the attack on Hermione. They had no opportunity to see each other between classes, and they only shared Potions, but even as they sat next to each other, Draco refused to meet his gaze. He knew that Harry was watching him more often than not, but he could not bring himself to look up at him, knowing he would break down if he did. When Harry tried to start a conversation, they were always interrupted by Snape, and Draco found himself almost thankful for it because he did not know what to say to his friend.

This went on for two weeks, and day after day, Draco felt more disgusted with himself. It was when the news spread that the Mandrakes were ready for cutting that he finally forced himself to open the chest - the one that Hagrid had given to him, he remembered, his heart clenching painfully at the realisation - and withdrew the leather-bound diary. 

He did not care anymore, he told himself. The first teacher he found, he was going to approach and hand himself over. 

Draco could feel the dark magic emanating from the diary envelop him, and then, everything went black.

  


When Draco awoke, he was lying on his back, staring up at a high, dark stone ceiling he did not recall seeing before. The ground he was lying on was stone, too, and he was soaked to the bones with ice cold water. With a violent shiver, he realized how much he was freezing. He tried to remember how he had gotten here, but came up blank. 

Then, a gasp cut through the silence, alerting him that he was not alone. 

“Draco!” Harry was at his side a moment later, looking battered and terrified. His clothes were wet, too, and appeared to be torn in some places. Dirt clung to his sweaty face, and his green eyes were too bright as they roamed over Draco’s face. “Can you hear me?! Are you hurt?!”

“I-”Draco breathed, making an attempt to sit. Harry’s hands flew out to help him, and they were shockingly warm against the coldness that was enveloping him. “What happened?”

Shakily, he took a look around. A long, cavernous dark chamber stretched out behind them, encased by statues of stone serpents along the walls. At the end of it, right where they were sitting, was another taller statue of a face Draco did remember seeing before. It took a moment for the dots to connect. 

Salazar Slytherin.

_The Chamber of Secrets_.

Without his input, his eyes travelled to a dark shape lying not far from them - Draco had just a moment to take in the incredible size and the bright green colour before he screamed. His voice was echoed by the startled screeching sound of a Phoenix, who took flight at the noise. Draco tried to crawl backwards, away from all of it, but Harry had grabbed his shoulders and was holding onto him.

“The Basilisk is dead, Draco!” he called. “It can’t hurt you! It’s dead!”

“Dead?!” Draco repeated, breathing hard. “A Basilisk?! But how-”

“I killed it,” Harry cut him off matter-of-factly. “And I stabbed the diary, too. You’re safe now, Draco. Trust me.”

“... the diary…” Draco muttered, and finally, he spotted the leather-bound notebook lying on the ground a few feet away from them, within a puddle of ink. There was a large hole in it, and a big tooth lay next to it. “Oh, Merlin.”

His vision blurred. It took him a moment to realise it was from his own tears. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered soothingly. The Phoenix landed almost noiselessly on Draco’s other side, observing him curiously.

“I did not mean to, Harry,” Draco got out, but it was hard to speak - he was trembling violently now, and sobs raked through his chest. “I tried to stop it, I swear!”

“I know,” Harry assured him, and then, Draco found himself enveloped in an embrace. Draco closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down, but it was no use. All the fear, the guilt, the desperation of the last few months poured out of him in the form of tears and broken sobs, and Harry’s physical comfort only made it worse. 

“Please don’t hate me,” Draco whimpered, and his voice sounded small and lost. Harry’s arms tightened around him.

“Of course I don’t hate you!” he insisted. “You were possessed, Draco! Voldemort - he made you do all this stuff! Ginny… when you were taken to the chamber, she approached Ron and me. She was crying and telling us about that diary she had found among her books after our trip to Diagon Alley during the summer holidays, and how it had written back to her every time she wrote in it. She told us that there have been… lags in her memory after she started using it, and that, when the attacks on Mrs Norris and Colin happened, she had not known what she had been doing while it happened. And then, the diary was gone on the day after that second attack. She thought she had lost it, and, afraid as she was, she didn’t tell anyone about it. But when you were taken earlier today, she wondered if maybe, you had gotten your fingers on it, and the same thing had happened to you.”

“My father gave it to her,” Draco brought out through his tears. Every word burned in his chest. “Dobby… he works for my family, and when you mentioned his name, I called on him.” Draco took a shaky breath. “He told me-” But he could not continue, and Harry nodded quickly. He could feel the movement against his shoulder. 

“I understand,” Harry said gently. “You took the diary from Ginny to protect her.” There was a moment of silence, before he asked, tentatively: “Why did you not just tell us, Draco?”

“I couldn’t!” Draco whimpered. “After everything Weasley said about me and my father - I just - I -”

“Draco,” Harry whispered, and then, he pulled away to catch his gaze. “Draco, look at me.”

Harry’s eyes were blazing with intensity as Draco’s lids fluttered open, and he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was burning under Harry’s attention. 

“I will _never_ ,” Harry stressed the word harshly. “ _ever_ think that you are like your father. No matter what happens. I know you better than that.”

If possible, Draco cried even harder at those words.

“But Weasley-”

“Ron didn’t really mean it, either,” Harry interrupted him. “It was a stupid thing to say, and I’ll have a word with him about it, believe me. But when you were taken, he was just as scared as me. He came down here with me, actually, but he got stuck on the way with Lockhart. We’ll have to go back soon, I bet he’s worried sick.”

When Draco did not answer, he pulled him back into their prior embrace.

“You scared me so much,” Harry whispered. “I thought you were dead.”

“How did you find me?” Draco spoke against the material of Harry’s robes, his face buried against the other boy’s shoulder, but it seemed the Gryffindor could understand him anyway. 

“Hermione,” Harry explained. “We found a note. Shortly before the attack on her, she had figured out that the monster inside the chamber was a Basilisk, and that it was moving through the plumbing of the school. When you were taken, we connected the dots to Moaning Myrtle and her bathroom - she died fifty years ago in that very same bathroom, you see? It was the attack Hagrid got expelled for, even though he was never involved. And, well, we wanted to tell Lockhart because he said he was going to try getting to you, but, er, well… he’s a bloody coward, and a liar, for that matter. But never mind that now. We came ourselves, in the end.”

Draco clung to Harry, taking deep breaths to reign in his tears.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” he breathed. “I was so scared to say anything, that’s why I tried to figure out where the chamber was for myself so that I could hand over all the information to Dumbledore and proof that I wasn’t involved. But I couldn’t. I didn’t find out a bloody thing, and then-”

“And then, he possessed you, too,” Harry nodded, hugging him a little tighter. “I should have _known_. All these months, you’ve looked horrible, and I never-”

“How could you have known,” Draco demanded, finally pulling away from Harry to wipe at his cheeks in angry motions. “When I tried with all my might to hide it?! I was so stupid.”

“You kind of were,” Harry agreed, and the words stung, but when Draco looked up at him, he was smiling gently. “But it was our fault, too, in a way. I know you never meant to hurt anyone. Just promise me that from now on, no matter what, you will always tell me the truth?”

Draco blinked, fighting against the last couple of tears dreading to fall from his eyes, and nodded once. Harry nodded too, and then he got to his feet. He held out a hand to help Draco up.

“Right, then,” Harry announced. “Let’s go back.”

  


They came across Weasley and Lockhart a few minutes after they had left the chamber, making their way through a dark, damp tunnel that Draco realised he must have walked through to get here in the first place, but could not recall. Harry called out to Weasley when the sound of shifting rocks reached them, and pulled Draco along to where the ceiling of the tunnel had apparently collapsed around them, leaving a path of destruction blocking their path. There was, though, a hole in the blockade of fallen rocks, just large enough for him and Harry to slip through individually. Weasley was waiting for him on the other side, looking relieved and pale.

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered as he caught sight of the two of them. He reached out a hand to help Draco through the hole he had created, and Draco, very much beside himself, took it without a word. “Malfoy, you bloody idiot!” Weasley burst out as soon as Draco had made it to the other side. “You scared us to death, mate! Don’t you ever-”

“Ron,” Harry said sharply, throwing him a meaningful look as he climbed through the hole after Draco. “Drop it, will you?”

Weasley flushed at that, sufficiently abashed as he muttered: “Well, I’m glad you’re alright. Both of you.” He frowned in confusion when the Phoenix followed after Harry, a lump of cloth grasped in its claws that Draco had no focus to identify. 

“He’s Dumbledore’s,” Harry said offhandedly, making Draco aware of all the plot twists he had neglected to ask about. 

“Is that a _sword_?!” Weasley demanded, staring at Harry incredulously, and only then did Draco notice that his friend was carrying a silver, jewel-studded weapon as well as the stabbed diary.

“Later, Ron,” he brushed the other Gryffindor off. “For now, let’s just get out of here. Where’s Lockhart?”

“Back there,” Weasley replied, nodding further down the tunnel, suddenly strangely cheerful. “He’s in a bad way. Come and see.”

Lockhart, Weasley explained, had tried to hit them with a Memory Charm in an attempt to get rid of them on the way to the Chamber, but, having used Weasley’s broken wand, the spell had backfired, causing the loss of his own memory instead. And indeed, Lockhart seemed unable to recall who they were, where they were, or who _he_ was, for that matter. Absently, Draco noted that he liked him remarkably better for all of it. 

Fawkes, Dumbledore’s Phoenix, with the incredible strength his kind was famous for, ended up lifting them all the way towards the second-floor girl's bathroom, where Moaning Myrtle waited for them, faintly disappointed that they were still alive. They did not linger, though - instead, after a short moment of consideration, they made their way to McGonagall’s office, who, as deputy headmistress in Dumbledore’s absence was supposedly the best authority to seek out. 

The office was crowded when they were called inside: McGonagall was standing by her desk where she had been conversing with none other than Dumbledore himself until their sudden appearance, and at the fireplace sat Snape, opposite Draco’s rigid-looking parents, Dobby at their side. The shocked silence was suppressive for a moment, and then, Draco’s mother jumped up and crossed the room to pull him into a breathtakingly tight embrace. 

“Darling,” she whispered. “Oh, by Merlin, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Draco breathed, though the way he trembled under her attention belied his true feelings. 

“Potter, Weasley,” McGonagall spoke up weakly, directing her attention towards the students of her house. “Could you please be so kind to explain?”

Harry hesitated before crossing the room towards McGonagall's desk, dropping down the dirty bundle Fawkes had carried earlier, - the Sorting Hat, Draco realised with a start - the stabbed diary and the sword. Then, he faced Dumbledore and dove into the story of how they had found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and how he had found Draco there and, with the help of Fawkes, who had procured him with the Sorting Hat and, consequently, the sword of Gryffindor, had fought the Basilisk and killed it. Draco noted that he was consciously refraining from any mention of Draco’s involvement. It was Dumbledore, though, who cut in with a gentle smile, enquiring: “What interests _me_ most is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Draco, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forest of Albania.” 

Draco’s mother, who was still holding onto him even as she had turned to Harry to follow his story, gasped in horror, her arms tightening around her son. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked, turning to Draco, her face a mixture of both shock and fear. “Draco?”

Harry stayed silent, catching Draco’s eyes, and with a deep breath and a trembling voice, the Slytherin finally spoke.

“Maybe we should ask Father about that,” he announced, drawing strength from his resentment. “Since he was the one who handed the diary to Ginevra Weasley this summer.”

A tense silence followed his words, and Draco’s eyes found his father's, at last. He was still standing near the fireplace, his posture stiff and his jaw clenched. He looked pale and faint, but his eyes were flashing dangerously at Draco.

“What exactly are you saying, Draco?” he asked, his tone controlled despite the anger Draco could feel emanating from him. 

“Dobby told me what you did after the second attack,” Draco muttered. Dobby whimpered at his words, but Draco ignored him. “And he helped me get the diary back from Ginny. Since then, I have been trying to get information from it, to find out where the Chamber was so I could tell someone, but-” He cut himself off with a shaky breath, looking up at his mother, who was staring at him, clearly horrified, and then into the clear blue eyes of Dumbledore. “I never meant to hurt anyone,” he breathed urgently. “I only wanted-”

“Of course you didn’t,” Dumbledore reassured him, his voice kind and understanding. “I never once suspected that you did, Draco. Older and wiser wizards than you have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort. I do not blame you.”

Draco felt weak in the knees, so relieved was he to hear Dumbledore’s words. His mother pulled him into another embrace, and Draco heard her mutter a sound of despair into his hair. 

“So,” Dumbledore murmured, picking the diary up from McGonagall’s desk and observing it carefully. “Would you like to explain to me what exactly this diary is, Lucius?”

“I have no idea,” Draco’s father responded politely. “for I have never seen it before.”

“Voldemort wrote in it when he was sixteen,” Harry offered, glaring fiercely at Draco’s father before meeting Dumbledore’s gaze. “He told me he preserved a part of himself inside of it. When first Ginny and then Draco wrote into it, they allowed him to possess them. He made them open the Chamber for him, and release the Basilisk into the school.”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded, staring at the diary in his hand. “Brilliant. Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” There was a moment of silence, before he dropped the diary back on the desk and faced the rest of the room. 

“Mr Malfoy should go up to the hospital wing straight away,” he announced. “This has been a terrible ordeal for him. There will be no punishment. Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up.” He smiled at Draco. “You will find Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice - I dare say the Basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“So Hermione’s okay!” Weasley called in relief. 

“There has been no lasting harm done,” Dumbledore ensured them. “Narcissa, may I ask you to accompany your son? I want to have a word with your husband. You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley.”

Draco’s mother straightened herself, nodding at the Headmaster. Draco caught Harry’s eyes for a moment, but the other boy just smiled at him encouragingly before his mother led him out of the room. 


	7. The Honorary Gryffindor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, I'm sorry for the late update, but here I finally am with the last chapter of the second instalment! My updates are probably going to slow down for a couple of weeks now - I'm in the final weeks before my graduation, and things have been outright hell. With that said, you'll understand that I have had little time to write, and my head start on the third instalment is by far not as big as I'd wish it to be. I'll probably need to drop to a rhythm of an update every 3 weeks now, at least until after graduation, so I can rectify this. 
> 
> Thanks a lot for your continuous support for this story! I adore you all, and your comments have been a blessing among my last couple of weeks from hell. Kudos to all of you for being awesome!

Madam Pomfrey almost dropped the vial of the potion she was holding in relief at seeing Draco. She then interrupted the act of applying the antidote to the victims to see Draco to a bed and procure a steaming cup of hot chocolate, spiked with some drops of Calming Draught.

“I will be with you in a moment, dear,” she said, rather gently for the usually impatient nurse. “Let me just finish here first.” With that, she left Draco and his mother to their own devices.

Narcissa Malfoy hesitated for a moment, before she took a seat next to her son on the bed, a careful hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this, darling,” she whispered. “I wished you had told me sooner so that I could have helped you.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Draco demanded shakily. “‘Mother, Father has set a legendary monster upon the school. Please help me save the Muggleborn students,’?” His fingers clenched around the warm mug in his hands. “Would you really have helped me?”

“Draco,” she sighed. “There is little I _wouldn’t_ do for you, my love. And it pains me that you would think I’d agree with anything that puts your life, or those of the people important to you, in danger.”

Draco gulped, willing himself not to cry again.

“And I am frankly appalled that your father was willing to go to such lengths,” she added, her voice turning frosty. “This is going to have consequences for him, I assure you.”

Their conversation was interrupted, though, when Weasley entered the room, a cheerfully curious Lockhart in tow.

“You okay there, Malfoy?” he asked hesitantly. Draco nodded wordlessly. “Good. Dumbledore sent me to bring in Lockhart. Where is Madam Pomfrey?”

The nurse turned up from behind the curtains at the words, looking weary.

“What has happened to him?” she demanded. “I _am_ rather busy, you know!”

“His Memory Charm backfired,” Weasley informed her sheepishly. “He doesn’t have a clue who he is.”

“Oh Merlin,” Madam Pomfrey sighed, raising an eyebrow. “Well, choose an empty bed, Professor, I’ll attend to you later. If your memory can be retrieved, it can wait.” With that, she returned to her work on the victims, disappearing behind the curtains.

Lockhart stood, smiling mildly, not moving, before Weasley pushed him onto a random bed, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll go up to the Gryffindor Tower,” he told Draco. “Ginny and everyone will be worried sick. And it seems McGonagall is preparing a feast in celebration. You think you’ll be able to come?”

“Dunno,” Draco shrugged, feeling weird in the face of Weasley’s obvious attempts at being kind to him.

“Right,” Weasley said awkwardly. “Well, I’ll see you later, anyhow.” Draco nodded, watching the other boy leave.

Draco and his mother did not say anything for a long time after. Draco quietly drank his chocolate, feeling the beverage and the potion warm him from within. His heart rate started to slow, and he eventually stopped trembling. His mother drew gentle fingers over his back, drawing calming circles into it.

Draco almost felt like himself again when his father burst through the door. His eyes were wild, and his face was flushed with fury.

“We’re going, Narcissa,” he bellowed. He did not look at his son, instead focusing his gaze solely on his wife, and Draco felt the hand on his back freeze in its motions.

“Excuse me?” she asked softly, dangerously.

“We’re going,” he repeated sharply.

“I think not,” she replied. “I’d like to stay with our son. Our very traumatized son, who has been faced with terrifying dark magic these past few months, all your doing, as I gather.”

Lucius glared at her before his eyes zoomed in on Draco.

“You have no proof that I was involved,” he spat. “If I were you, I’d be careful what I accuse my father of.”

“Dobby can testify to it,” Draco protested immediately.

“You rest your words on a filthy _house elf’'s_ testimony?” he scoffed, laughing shortly. “Have you learned nothing from me about how the world works Draco?”

Draco did not answer, knowing perfectly well that his father was right. He had no proof against him; at least none that any authorities would take seriously.

“You wait till you come home,” he breathed. “I’ll show you what happens when you try to incriminate your own father, you ungrateful-”

“That is enough, Lucius,” Draco’s mother hissed. “I will not tolerate you speaking to my son like that.”

His father looked up at her, and they just glared at each other for a long moment, which was only broken by the voice of Madam Pomfrey, whose return Draco had not even noticed.

“This is an infirmary,” she reminded them snidely. “And your son has been severely traumatized. Either you stop arguing, or you leave.”

Draco’s father straightened up in a poorly disguised scramble for dignity, and without a word, left the hospital wing. His mother sighed, getting to her feet as well.

“I’d like to stay, darling, but I really think your father and I need to have a serious word with each other,” she said grimly. “Do you think you’ll be alright on your own?”

“Of course, Mother,” Draco nodded, setting the empty mug down on the bedside table and standing to face her. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll write to you in the morning,” she promised, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Rest well, my little dragon.”

Draco smiled at the pet name, and with another kiss on the top of his head, she turned to follow after his father. Almost immediately after she had left, the door swung open once more, and Harry came into the room.

“Draco,” he smiled, crossing the distance to him. “How are you?”

“Better,” Draco said honestly. “What happened in McGonagall’s office? Father was furious when he turned up here.”

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “Dumbledore told him that he’d find a way to hold him responsible if, erm, any other school supplies of Voldemort’s found their way into innocent hands, or something along those lines. Oh, and I kind of freed Dobby.”

“You did what?” Draco asked, taken aback.

“Well, I made your father give him a sock without realising. He didn’t take it all too well, as you can imagine.”

This startled a laugh out of Draco. Harry smiled, looking pleased.

“Only you, Harry,” Draco chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d say you quickly made your way up to the top of Father’s list.”

“Well, he’s pretty much up there on mine, too,” Harry said lightly. “So, are you coming to the feast?”

Draco frowned, the image of walking into the Great Hall after the revelation that he had been acting, however unwillingly, as a puppet for the Heir of Slytherin frightening him.

“I don’t know, Harry,” he muttered. “I think it’s best if I just stay here.”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry pleaded. “It wasn’t your fault. There is no reason for you to hide.”

“But Dumbledore said I should stay here, remember?” Draco pointed out.

“I’m sure he’d agree that you need some distraction,” Harry insisted. “Madam Pomfrey?”

There was a short discussion with the nurse, who seemed unwilling to let Draco go without a proper check-up, but she relented eventually, conceding that she had her hands full with the treatment of the Basilisk’s victims. She advised Draco to come back the moment he felt poorly and sent them off their way.

When they arrived at the Entrance Hall, students were already filing into the Great Hall, still dressed in their pyjamas and chattering loudly. A group of gingers broke through the masses, approaching them in fast steps - Weasley, his little sister, the twins, and the Prefect. Draco noted that Ginny’s eyes were red and swollen, as if she had been crying for hours.

Suddenly, Draco wanted to run. He was not capable of dealing with almost the whole Weasley family after his father had tried to drive their youngest into death in the worst case, and into criminality in the best. He came to an immediate hold, and Harry’s hand flew to his arm in retaliation.

“Draco-” he began.

“Harry! Malfoy!” Weasley called. “Thank Merlin that you are here! We were just contemplating whether Madam Pomfrey would allow us all entrance to the hospital wing…”

“Are you alright, Draco?” Ginny asked in a small voice, tearful eyes having zoomed in on him.

Draco was lost for anything to say. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, and for a moment, he felt dizzy. Harry, though, still had his hand firmly on his elbow, and was watching him closely before he turned to the Weasleys, speaking for Draco.

“He’s still in shock, but he’s not hurt,” he declared.

“Thank Godric for that,” the Prefect said quietly.

“We’ve got to thank you, Draco, mate,” one of the twin said seriously, clapping Draco on the shoulder, while the other nodded vehemently.

Draco’s head spun, unable to process the words he'd just heard. He blinked, staring at them uncomprehendingly.

“What?” he finally brought out, his voice rough.

“You saved our little sister!” the first twin pointed out.

“Without you, it would have been her down there in the chamber,” the second twin added.

“Not only that,” the Prefect said, his face pale as he looked at his trembling sister, for once without his usual pompous air. “Who knows how well _she_ would have been able to fight the power of this diary. She might not have survived it.”

“We owe you big time,” the twin that was still holding onto Draco’s shoulder concluded, squeezing down gently.

“But-” Draco breathed, still not understanding. “I attacked people. You should all hate me.”

“Come off it,” the other twin returned, eyes widening. “We don’t blame Ginny, and we won’t blame you!”

“You couldn’t help it,” Ginny said softly, catching his eyes hesitantly. “None of us could.”

Her words, more than anyone else’s, managed to settle the storm of guilt and self-directed hate inside of him. Maybe it was because she, unlike anyone else, understood _exactly_ what he had gone through.

Draco nodded at her, unable to speak. He felt Harry’s hand move from his elbow to the small of his back in a gesture of comfort.

“Come on,” the first twin smiled, squeezing his fingers down on Draco's shoulder once more before letting go of him. “Let’s get to the feast and stuff our faces.”

“Yup,” the other nodded decisively, dropping an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “And you’re sitting with us today, too.”

“But,” Draco muttered, frowning. “I’m a Slytherin.”

“Who cares,” Weasley said, with feeling, though he was not looking at Draco.

“I think we can make an exception to the rules just for tonight,” the Prefect said stiffly.

“We declare you an Honorary Gryffindor,” one of the twins called cheerfully. “Right, Fred?”

“Yup,” the other - Fred, Draco’s mind supplied - smirked. “Whoever has a problem with it can come have a word with us.”

Draco turned to look at Harry, hesitant, but Harry was smiling brightly.

“Let’s go,” he told Draco, and in lack of anything productive to say, Draco just nodded and followed the Weasleys into the Great Hall.

  


The feast passed in a blur of students either staring at Draco as though he was a flying Kneezle or attempting to strike a conversation with him before getting quickly and resolutely blown off by Harry or a member of the Weasley clan. Dumbledore addressed the students, informing them of what had happened while giving as little detail as was diplomatically possible and awarding Harry and Weasley 200 points each for their house.

At some point of the night, the freshly revived victims of the Basilisk attack started to filter into the Hall, one by one, all of them looking varying degrees of shaken and lost. Draco tried to not meet their gazes, too guilt-ridden to do so, but it was when Hermione came running into the Hall and wrapped Harry up in a bone-crushing hug, congratulating him and Weasley on figuring things out by themselves, that Draco's heart basically dropped through the floor.

He kept his eyes firmly on his mostly untouched plate, trying to make himself as small as humanly possible. He wished he had Harry's invisibility cloak, he thought fleetingly, because there was no way he could face Hermione after what had happened.

Hermione left him no choice, though, because shortly after releasing Harry, she wrapped her arms around Draco's shoulders, embracing him tightly from behind.

„I'm so sorry we didn't figure out what was going on, Draco,“ she breathed into his ear. „I'm so sorry we didn't help you, and that you felt like you couldn't confide in us!“

„What are you talking about?“ Draco muttered, his voice breaking. „It's my fault, all of it! I was too much of a coward to speak up, and stupidly convinced that I would be able to handle this by myself! It's because of my big head that you got petrified! You shouldn't-“

„Don't you dare blame yourself, Draco!“ she hissed, her tone uncharacteristically sharp. She let go of him and squeezed herself in between Weasley and Draco, finding his gaze with a fierce determination. „You're as much of a victim as anyone who got attacked!“ When Draco just stared at her speechlessly, she added, more gently: „I know what you're thinking, Draco, but please don't. I know you'd never have hurt anyone intentionally, much less me. You are _not_ your father, and we know that better than anyone. _Don't we, Ronald?_ “ She turned her head towards Weasley at those last words, whose ears had turned almost as red as his hair.

„Right,“ he muttered.

„Right,“ Harry agreed. „So the next time anything happens, please trust us, okay? We've got your back.“

„I hope very much that there won't be a next time,“ Draco said weakly.

„Oh,“ Hermione sighed darkly. „Sadly, I am convinced there will be.“

It was around three in the night that Hagrid returned. Azkaban had obviously not done him good, for he looked pale and tired, but his smile was bright and sincere when he directed it to Draco.

„Ah, don' yeh worry abou' it, kiddo,“ he shrugged off his apology. „So we've both been had by him. Can't blame yeh for somethin' that happened ter me first, now can I? And thanks ter yeh kids, ev'ryone now knows I'm innocent.“ His face turned serious at those words. „If anything, I should thank yeh for clearing me name.“

Draco did not feel like he deserved any forgiveness, not to mention gratefulness, but the intensity of the fierce Gryffindor loyalty surrounding him would have made him a fool to question the honesty of his friends' sentiments. So he pushed his guilt back into far corners of his mind and let himself bathe in their acceptance as the celebrations continued through the night.

  


The few remaining days of the term allowed Draco to slowly sew himself back together, bit by bit. The end of term examinations had been cancelled, and while Hermione despaired over that particular announcement, Draco was grateful, for he felt like he couldn’t have performed up to his own standards in them. Instead, Draco spent as much time as he could with his friends (due not only to the fact that Harry refused to let him leave his side unless he absolutely had to), and eventually, he started to feel almost normal again.

News soon reached Draco that his father had been sacked as a school governor. This, naturally, was a field day for Nott, who claimed gleefully that Draco continued to be the ruin of the Malfoy name, and that soon, his family would be on one level with the Weasleys. Draco had not expected anything less from Nott, and was not particularly bothered by his words, either – with everything to feel bad about, Nott's bullying or his family's reputation were pretty low on the list – but what _did_ surprise him was that, unlike Nott's usual taunts, these did not seem to resonate as well with some of his classmates. It was Zabini who demanded, without a spark of interest in his voice, that Nott „stop being an obnoxious git, can't you see I'm reading?“, and Parkinson, quite pink in the face, muttered her consent to Zabini's words. Her eyes met Draco's for a moment, but before Draco could identify the emotion in them, she had already jumped up and fled the common room with some feeble excuse of „searching for Daphne“. Draco was unsure of how to interpret these particular events, so he pushed them out of his mind and just avoided his housemates as usual.

Draco's mother, in one of the various letters she had sent since she had followed her husband out of the hospital wing, had assured him that his father was not going to bother him when he returned for the holidays, but Draco remained unconvinced. It was not that he doubted his mother's ability to put her foot down, but rather the fact that, with the whole evil diary debacle, he had lost all faith he had ever had in Lucius Malfoy as a parental figure. Ever since he had received the mysterious letter from the future, his respect for the father he had once admired so had diminished drastically, and now, Draco realised that he would put absolutely nothing past him – a notion that was both disheartening and unsettling.

So naturally, his mood was dull when they rode the Hogwarts Express back to London, despite the racket the Weasley twins and their friend Jordan were making in the corridor in front of their compartment. Harry, disregarding of his own dim outlook over the summer with his return to his Muggle relatives, tried his best to stay positive, and Draco knew that his friend was doing it just to lift his spirits. At some point, he handed all three of them a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled number, instructing them to „call him“. Draco had no idea what that meant, but Hermione promised that she was going to explain muggle ways of communication to him in her first letter.

„We'll manage to talk this summer,“ Harry promised him. „We'll find a way.“

Draco nodded, hoping that he was right, for another summer without a word from Harry seemed like an even worse prospect than returning to live under the same roof with his father. 

And so, with Harry’s mysterious number in his pocket and a tight hug in parting, Draco joined up with his mother to return to the Malfoy Manor. 

“Don’t look so worried, darling,” she scolded him gently when she caught sight of his face. “It will be fine.”

Draco smiled at her weakly, and with one last look towards his friends, they left platform nine and three quarters and departed for Wiltshire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please subscribe to the series for alerts on the third instalment :)


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